


Seconda Volta

by technocouture



Series: Metamorphoses [2]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Teachers, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Infatuation, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 04:01:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17237021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technocouture/pseuds/technocouture
Summary: Newly employed at his nephew’s school, Kun meets Taeil, a music teacher.





	Seconda Volta

**Author's Note:**

> nobody ships kunil but that’s OK. because I do. I’m sorry if this fic is long and bad, I tried my best to make something for them!  
> loosely inspired by Taeil’s OST because of you and the lyrics of once again. Happy birthday to Kun <3 I really wish him and wayV the best. Note that kun in this fic looks like he did in the arena photoshoot (that godly half profile thanks) I hope this story ends up kinda coherent and that you can enjoy reading it!
> 
> seconda volta: a second ending of a musical section performed only at the repetition of the section, and with omission of the first ending

The Vision Musical Festival is a community music competition held every year at the SM University in the township of the same name. It opens its doors to many of the small towns in the mountain region where their local municipalities are founded. The competition hosts collegiate, graduate, as well as intermediate levels for primary and secondary education institutions. Categories comprise of orchestra, jazz, band, and original interpretations for solo acts.

The newly established school of Newcult Town, on their first year of participation in the festival, wins the Junior Gold in orchestral performance, awarded to the students of the fifth-grade class of the year.

 

—

 

Kun used to remember Chenle as an event. His entire existence in Kun’s life had been a thing of experience, of disruption. He was like the trigger point found in story arcs, the shocks that begin everything. There were times Kun couldn’t remember his life before him, as if those pages were missing in their story. And other times he thought, there was never anything written there at all.

 

Once upon a time. The rainy night Kun’s brother and wife left the hospital in their car on the mountain road, the baby called the thunder and lightning in the skies and swerved them over the cliff. The car pitched, dropped, and fell. It was the singular line Kun remembered from the report of the incident. It was a miracle the boy survived.

Chenle’s advent. Kun was twelve when his mother put the baby in his arms. Chenle was bundled up and crying his heart out. Kun was enamored of him at once.

“Is he mine?” he asked. Through her tears, his mother smiled and caressed both their heads.

Rising action. Chenle grew to be everything Kun loved in the world. He laughed Chenle’s laughter, his loud babbling, his excited screams. He hated hearing the boy cry. Whenever Chenle started wailing, Kun opened his favorite storybook and read him the first lines. Chenle liked the sound of his voice, the images the words composed. Neither of them ever tired of the same stories, dreaming of fantasies, love, and music.

Chenle was full of life, full of spirit, always raring to go. Kun liked to think of himself as a simple man, contented with the ordinary, preferring stability, and a safe source of comfort and joy. Kun took care of Chenle, read him stories, fed him, put him to bed, and kept him safe in the house. Though they clashed at expected times, there was a part of Kun that indulged in the boy’s carefreeness, and some part of Chenle that wanted to feel grounded. They needed each other, like opposites do to exist.

Kun turned 18 and his mother left Newcult to go work in the big city where she could better provide for them. Kun never thought once that the small life in the mountain townships would tire him. He was born in Newcult Town, he would live in Newcult Town, and he would die in Newcult Town. Life needed to be simple like that. He chose to pursue a teaching career at the town’s community school. It was partly a way for him to keep close to Chenle, make easier their time together, and partly for his own interests; he loved his literature studies and thought of applying for English, but ultimately decided to teach for History. Job opportunities weren’t in need in the small mountain towns like Newcult, and by the time he received his degree he’d already been offered the full-time teaching post at their community school, for the fifth-grade year.

“Are you gonna be, like, my teacher? You won’t call me Lele in class, right? My friends will make fun of me…”

“No, baby. It’s just you and me.”

“When will you start teaching there?”

“This year. When your school year begins, in the fall.”

“Will you come see me during lunch? And recess?”

“I’ll see you every chance I can get.”

Climax. The rumor began at the end of the last month before the summer break. Chenle came home one afternoon and told Kun what had happened at school. One of his classmates came in late with a red bruise under the jaw. The teacher and students asked about it and the classmate started to cry, muttering that it was another teacher who was responsible, but refused to say which.

Kun wrapped Chenle in his arms, held him for long minutes, and put him to bed with a story. It remained an isolated incident, unmentioned for the following weeks, but he received a notice in his mail one day, informing him of the delicate situation inside the school and the board.

Falling action. Kun’s closest friend Doyoung worked at the school as the secretary. Jaehyun, the man’s fiancé, was an English teacher for the first-graders. They had been wary of the rumors like everyone else but were delighted to welcome Kun to the team. Doyoung was referred to as ‘uncle’ more than Kun ever was, as Chenle always called him his brother. Kun didn’t mind. Chenle was the most important person in his life and there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for him. It was how he reluctantly agreed during the summer to dye his own hair in Chenle’s place, since he thought the boy was still too young. Chenle chose for him a deep copper colour and even made him do his eyebrows. It was the most impulsive decision Kun made in his life, but he found himself agreeing with Chenle, when he said it suited him to a T.

Doyoung was pleasantly surprised when he saw the new look and made him promise to keep it for at least the first year. He informed him of the staff-party held on the eve of each back-to-school day and had no trouble convincing him to come. Kun was worried about leaving Chenle alone in the house, but Doyoung arranged an evening with his son Jeno and their babysitter, an older student named Mark.

Kun knew he was protective of Chenle. For all the calm person he was and the steady life he led, Chenle was the one happy twist, the only thing that inspired any ardent feeling in him. He loved the boy to death. It was the last thing he thought before Chenle, Jeno and Mark shut the front door of Doyoung’s house. Kun used to think this was where it ended, the _happily forever after_ closing the book. He wasn’t wrong about the end, _an_ end of things. It was a chapter of his life that was done, but in some time he would think back to it and wish he’d never turned the page.

  
It was a warm evening of a summer’s end, and Kun’s heart was lighter than ever. There was some lingering nervousness, flowing like a song on repeat in his head, but there was nothing— _nothing_ in the world that could have ever prepared him for that night.

 

—

 

The first thing Kun hears, before he steps inside the hall, is music. It’s not very distinct, lacking in form and sound, but he notices it anyway. Doyoung says there’s a small karaoke set in the gymnasium where the party is held. Kun follows him to the teachers' lounge first where they meet with Jaehyun.

Doyoung throws himself on the man and kisses him. Kun always feels fond at the sight of them, holding hands and gazing lovingly at each other. Jaehyun gifted them rings for the engagement, beautifully crafted bands encrusted with diamonds, and Doyoung swore he’d never take it off. It’s always there on his finger for Kun to see and admire. He never felt envious of them.

“God, I can’t wait to marry you,” Jaehyun whispers.

Doyoung cups the man’s face. “Next summer, darling.” He turns his head to Kun and raises his eyebrows. “Remember to get new hiking boots by then!”

“Only you two would get married at the top of the mountains,” Kun grouses, laughing.

“Well, it’s the most convenient place here, isn’t it? The mountains are beautiful. It’s going to be the best wedding.”

Jaehyun circles his arms around his waist and presses a kiss on his temple. Their fingers entwine and the rings clink together. Kun raises his eyes when he hears applause echoing in the hall.

Doyoung and Jaehyun take him to the offices. Kun meets two science teachers, the counsellor, and one of the math teachers. The counsellor, a tall man named Johnny, gives him his number and schedule information, and makes him promise to attend their after-party, an unofficial gathering held on the Friday of the first week of school. He comes with them when they leave to the gymnasium. He talks about the lunch hours and activities the teachers’ group organizes to better know each other and get along. It’s a tight-knit community since they’re a small town, and Kun already knows the school, so Johnny tells him he has nothing to worry about.  


Then the music changes. Kun doesn’t notice at first, when the soft sounds of guitar and piano travel inside the stairwell. It’s only after they enter the hallway that he hears it. The singing voice strengthens for the chorus, and the sound hangs in the air. It’s subtle, still faint, but Kun hears it without mistake, and feels strangely warm in his head. Distracted, he follows the voice that grows louder and clearer. Something in his body responds to it, as if he’s being pulled forward by a string. Slowly, dragging. Kun’s never heard a voice so beautiful, and thinks that it’s calling out to him.

They step into the gymnasium from the center door. Many people are gathered in the area, chatting quietly under the gentle music. Kun’s breath comes short when the sound fully surrounds him. The song falls for a moment after the bridge, and the voice becomes soft as silk. Yet each articulated word is like a strike inside his head.

_“I love you forever, until the day I die.”_

The song rises and Kun stares ahead, entranced. Mind blank, senses benumbed, he ambles along the gymnasium’s floor, slipping past the crowd. Doyoung calls his name, but it’s lost inside the music, caught between the notes, twisted, torn out like a breath, and smothered by the beautiful voice that drowns out every sound.

_“I love you so much, you live in my heart.”_

The smoothness strains his senses, so much Kun feels like he can see the voice. It’s blue, it’s red, it’s purple, it’s white, it’s long, heavy, it’s round, it dances, it breaks into threads, it flows, plentifully, inexhaustibly. Every single note wrests his heart. Kun’s stopped breathing, when he exits the crowd to the space in front of a thin platform. A man wearing a white blouse and a black lanyard stands at the edge. He holds the microphone with one hand and the stand with the other. His eyes are closed.

 _“Even if I cry, it’s all right—”_ It’s pure, it’s serene. The pink mouth moves slowly, lips stretching with the last of the lyrics. The head leans to the left, carried away by the music, then tilts back. The hand holding the stand inclines forward. When the singer opens his eyes, they fall perfectly into Kun’s. _“—because I love you.”_

People eternally talk about time stopping. Doyoung said it countless times when he spoke about Jaehyun. Even Chenle who used to play freeze-tag with his friends ordered the world to a halt. Kun has never known the feeling of being _seized_ , and has never really believed in it either. But as he stares now into the man’s small dark eyes, darker than ink, without shine even under the light, it becomes real to Kun that time not only stops, but dies as well. The world blinks out like a light. There’s only the music and this washed-out look on the stranger’s face, and though the shape of his eyes isn’t sharp, the look _cuts_ , pierces, slashes deep into Kun’s chest, his throbbing heart.

Everything crashes into him, explodes and erupts in fire and earthquakes and storms, discharging through his entire body, from the center of his head to the tip of his fingers, his lashes, his tongue—and he feels _destroyed_. The injury goes through him and when Kun breathes again, breathes like he just swam up from the bottom of the ocean, something new takes over. The lovely sight of the singer’s face and the tender sound of his voice melt life into his chest, melt a terrible warmth that burns him inside out. Kun’s thoughts dissolve like they’ve touched acid.

The man on the platform seems to falter as well. Something in his eyes shifts and his expression stills. The smooth voice wavers. _“Though it hurts, I’m going to wait for you, my last love.”_

His grip on the stand has released, and the hand opens. Kun feels a shiver run from under the skin of his hands, all the way up his arms, to his neck and skull. The man keeps staring. When he sings, it’s like he’s whispering a vow.

“Because it’s you.”

The stand slips from his fingers, pushes over, and falls. The harsh clattering noise on the floor is what breaks the hypnosis. But neither of them even flinch. There’s some applause that reaches Kun’s ringing ears. He doesn’t move, and the singer doesn’t either.

Then Kun’s brain shocks. Electricity shoots into every nerve in his body. He jolts, overwhelmed by the sights and sounds that return. He tears his eyes away and plunges back into the crowd. He finds his way back to Doyoung, but his friends’ faces have changed. Everything looks different now, and nothing feels very real.

Doyoung talks with Jaehyun, kisses him sweetly. Johnny says a few things and Kun nods along. Another song has started and he almost feels angry, as if anything could dare be as exquisite as the singer’s voice. As if anything could compare—why does he feel so mad, all of a sudden? What is the rage stirring in his chest? Every second he feels the thrumming under his skin is a second of torture. What is going on? What is wrong with him?

He tells Doyoung he’s going to get something to drink. He needs to cool down, stifle the heat in his body. He makes his way to the food table next to the gymnasium’s storage room. Kun fills a cup and drinks, drinks until the turmoil drains out. His hand trembles as he puts the cup down, and he takes a deep breath.

He stops when he suddenly feels watched. When Kun turns around, he’s expecting him. The singer stands at his side, next to the storage room’s open door. Closer, his dark eyes give an imperceptible shine. His mouth is open the slightest, showing a line of white teeth. He has thin even lips, thick black hair parted in a comma, and a _perfect_ sculpt of the face. They’re about the same height.

He’s beautiful. It feels like hours that they stare at each other in silence, while everything and everyone else moves away. Kun doesn’t know how long he can stand looking at him. The man raises his hand to his cheek level. Kun immediately sees the two silver bands on his ring finger.

“Once again, please.”

His voice shakes Kun to the core. It’s soft and deep, smooth and light at the same time. The sound is like a synthesis, like a harmony. But then the man takes a step back, and another, until he’s retreating into the storage room. Kun paces slowly toward him. The man reappears before he can enter and, after a short pause, brings out his hand.

“Taeil,” he says.

Kun repeats the name in his head. He lifts his hand and shudders when it touches the other’s. Taeil takes it. Fingers press into his skin, and Kun’s entire wrist burns.

“Kun,” he answers.

A smile takes over Taeil’s face, cutting out his cheekbones. It’s beautiful and peculiar.

“You must be a new teacher,” Taeil continues. “Welcome to the school.”

“Thank you,” Kun whispers. He glances at their hands then forces himself to let go. Taeil’s touch lingers painfully. Kun can’t think, and he doesn’t know what to say next.

But Taeil goes on, speaking unhurriedly. “I’ve only been here a year.”

There’s not a second for Kun to order his thoughts and voice. The words barely register. He’s never felt so agitated, so distraught. “At the school?”

Taeil’s smile wanes. “In Newcult, actually. You’ll no doubt have a better time adjusting before me. I’m a music teacher. Perhaps you’ve heard of the Vision Festival this year?”

It rings a bell. Kun pauses, surprised. “Oh—I have. The fifth graders won Junior Gold, didn’t they? Wasn’t it the first time?”

“It was.” Taeil gives a proud, happy smile. “I teach for their year. I’m the orchestra conductor.”

Kun interrupts the impressed noise that escapes his mouth. “Oh—congratulations. That’s… that’s really good. I’m the new history teacher. Fifth grade as well.”

“History,” Taeil says, tone light. “Fits.”

A strange moment passes, where Kun’s unsure of what’s happening or what he means, but he and Taeil keep staring at each other. A sprinkle of lucidity spatters inside his head. Kun leaves Taeil’s eyes. He had been concentrating too much on the details that he failed to take in the plain look of his face. Taeil is lovely. It’s simple to see.

“You… you have a beautiful voice,” Kun whispers. His fingers brush his ear. “You sing very well.”

Taeil smiles again, not quite right or wrong, just different. “Thank you.”

He pauses, then takes a step forward, and Kun’s heart lurches in his chest—he startles back involuntarily. Taeil stops at once, observing him closely. His perusing look has Kun panicking before he can get a grip on himself. He turns around and hurries back to Doyoung. Taeil doesn’t follow or call out.

The sound of conversation and music increases suddenly. Kun feels like he’s been pulled back into reality. Johnny gives him a small smirk when he comes back, but he chooses to ignore it. Jaehyun proposes to call it an early night, reminding they start first thing tomorrow at 9. Kun’s eyes stay as fixed as they can, trying not to wander, not to search for a face.

He’s quiet when Jaehyun drives them back to Doyoung’s house. He still feels breathless, shaken. He looks at Doyoung in the passenger seat and at Jaehyun in front of the wheel, then his eyes fall on their linked hands in the middle. The streetlights’ glow pours through the window and bounces off Doyoung’s ring. Kun’s thoughts stray back to the two bands on Taeil’s finger.

In front of Doyoung’s house, Chenle bounds up to him, giggling happily. His smile and laughter envelop Kun and chase away the thoughts. When Jaehyun drives them back home, the boy babbles without interruption, talking about Jeno and Mark and the cool things he does with the older students. Kun listens attentively, letting himself be absorbed by Chenle, to distract himself from the dizziness and the pain in his chest.

Kun puts him to bed with a short story. He caresses Chenle’s head, his hair, and kisses his eyes when he falls asleep. Silence falls in the room, but it’s loud, loud and beautiful inside Kun’s head, where the smooth voice consumes his thoughts and the song repeats.

 

—

 

Kun has never been in love. He dated once in high school, but it was young, it was innocent. They stayed good friends, even after Taeyong left Newcult for the big city. Never in that single year of their relationship did Kun feel a _piece_ of what he suffered last night. Never in his life did he experience something so jarring. He used to think Chenle was the most life could throw his way, that his brother’s death and the boy’s arrival were the conclusion of everything, and that the rest was his to decide, to have.

But now it’s like all the axis have switched. Kun feels turned over, _dispossessed_ of everything. Is this love? Is this what all the great stories of life reveal? This sinking, tortuous, uncontrollable feeling. Is this what Doyoung and Jaehyun felt when they first laid eyes on each other? Is this the grand feeling of fairytales and tragedies? Is this love?

The thought won’t stop coming into his mind, but Kun dismisses it each time. It’s not possible. He might not know what being in love is, but he’s certain this isn’t it. Love can’t feel like this. When he and Taeil looked at each other, there was nothing tender, nothing that evoked love, not even affection or fondness. Nothing like Doyoung and Jaehyun are. No sparks or blooming, no cloud-like feeling or fluttering warmth. Kun’s head and heart instead _collapsed_ ; the moment of the encounter took shape in his body and razed him to the ground. Unlike Taeil’s voice, it was brutal and violent, a _ravage_. And never in his life did Kun think he could ever feel such extreme emotions.

He didn’t dream of Taeil, but instead of his beautiful voice and the gentle song. When Kun woke up in the morning, it felt like he’d been reborn. He knew at once it was a new life he was starting, not because it would be his first day at work, but because there was something planted in the pit of his soul and growing forever. What happened? What did Taeil do to him?

The morning sun is high above the mountains. Kun drives Chenle to school and leaves him in the playground, then goes to his shared office. He dreads the thought of running into Taeil, but feels disheartened by his absence at the same time. He can’t stop thinking about him, his beautiful face, his dark eyes, his smooth voice. Taeil is like a shadow that follows him, revolving with the light.

The class is very nice. His students like him instantly. Kun guesses the dyed hair has some effect on his image, and he secretly thanks Chenle for the makeover. He finds himself saved inside his routine; at least in his work, things are how he plans them to be, and he’s in control. History itself is linear and ordered, absolutely infallible. Events succeed each other in a strict system. There’s no changing it.

He eats lunch with Doyoung and Jaehyun, chats with Johnny, meets the other teachers, and enjoys recess with the kids. Chenle points him to his friends who gawk at his hair glowing gold under the afternoon sun. Kun won’t lie, the attention isn’t unpleasant, and he likes the courtly look. It took him a while to get used to it, but even sometimes now, when he catches himself in the mirror, he fails to recognize himself.

The first three days pass without disturbance. Kun loves his work, he loves his students, and he loves seeing Chenle, laughing and screaming in the playground. The agitation in his body has calmed, and Kun thinks, this could go away. Whatever happened that night was simply another event, and he would pass it, bury it, like history.

But on Thursday Kun comes in his class in the afternoon, during the bell break, and finds Taeil cleaning the blackboard. He’s wearing a dark blue cardigan and the same black lanyard around his neck. The students are leaving for their next class. Kun steps inside the room to let them pass and Taeil catches his eye immediately. The _impact_ isn’t the same as the night of the party, but succeeds in incapacitating Kun all the same. The fading trace of emotion in his body completely blows up.

The classroom empties. Taeil’s hand holding the brush descends slowly to the blackboard’s base, but his eyes don’t leave Kun's. The man’s fingers slip—the brush tips on the base, flips, and falls. This time, Kun winces at the noise when it hits the floor. Taeil barely reacts. He leans down, picks up the brush and places it back on the base. Then he slowly approaches Kun. All the breath leaves his lungs when they face each other once again.

“Hello.”

Still so smooth, so melodious. Kun nods. “Hi.”

Taeil smiles. “The teacher was absent. I was the substitute for his class today.”

“You teach math?”

“The other teachers weren’t available. The school doesn’t have much staff. I just followed his notes.”

Kun isn’t really listening. Taeil’s eyes seem to be doing more than his voice. It doesn’t feel like they’re talking.

“How are you?” Taeil politely asks.

“Good, thank you. How are you?”

“Fine, thank you. You like teaching?”

“I do.”

A pause. Smile unwavering, Taeil turns around and grabs his messenger bag on the desk. Kun’s eyes fall from his hair to his back. His body is slender and small. He moves gracefully, in no kind of hurry. When Taeil turns back, his expression is slightly amused. He leans against the desk and looks Kun up curiously.

“You like history?”

“I do,” Kun replies. “You… you like music?”

Taeil’s face brightens. “I do. But tell me—what do you like about history?”

“What I like?” Reflexively, Kun thinks back to the introduction he gives of his classes. “I think… It’s good we remember. We remember and learn of our past. It’s something we need,” he recites, “to better make our future.”

Taeil’s eyes are blank. He hums, nodding. “And what about the future?”

Kun falters. “Pardon?”

“What about our future? What about understanding it?” Taeil smiles. “Why don’t you teach the future?”

Confusion stills him. Taeil’s stare is intent, awaiting. Kun tries not to sound awkward when he replies: “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because—” Kun frowns, hesitant, and scratches his ear, “—well… Because I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future.”

“But can’t you predict it?” Taeil argues. “Envision it?”

Kun stops, and really thinks about it for a moment. He was aware of futurology studies, but it was a complex system that wasn’t well embedded in the academic field, and certainly not in institutions of small mountain towns like Newcult. He never wondered about it much. He isn’t sure what Taeil’s asking for, and it’s troubling him.

“I’m sorry,” Kun ends up saying, which prompts a small chuckle from Taeil.

“Don’t be.”

He smiles and gently places a hand on Kun’s shoulder. The look in his eyes darkens. It roots Kun to the floor. Then, Taeil slides his hand down to his wrist, slowly, dragging, and rubs a circle on the skin with his thumb. Kun shivers and feels his entire arm go numb. Taeil parts his lips, and Kun watches, transfixed, his pink tongue prod the inside of his cheek.

Before either of them can speak, the sound of chatter and footsteps enter the room. Kun brusquely pulls back, sidesteps Taeil and makes his way to the desk. The man hardly reacts and walks out. Kun greets his students and prepares the notes on the blackboard. His hand shakes as he writes. When the bell rings, Taeil is long gone. The noise settles down in the classroom, but the cacophony is rising inside Kun’s head.

 

—

 

Chenle makes friends with a new student named Jisung and tells Kun all about how cute he is when they come home on Friday afternoon. Jisung likes music and dancing, and Chenle wants to sing his favorite songs. Kun smiles fondly, caresses his head and tells him to get his things ready for the evening at Jeno’s.

Johnny reserved the lounge in the town’s rec club for the night. Kun doesn’t dislike parties, but he isn’t much for alcohol or bars. The thought of Taeil mixing with those things makes his stomach churn. Kun didn’t see him again for the rest of the week, but he couldn’t stop feeling the warmth under his arm’s skin. He thought again of his eyes, his mouth, his tongue, his voice. Would Taeil be there tonight? Would he talk to him again? Would he touch him again?

Kun parts his hair and wears something dark. Doyoung gives him a balm that colours his lips, to match the deep shade of his hair. His ring brushes Kun’s cheek while he holds his face. Kun’s eyes follow the glimmer of the diamonds when he moves away. He thinks of Taeil’s bands in comparison that are without any flashy ornaments. Clean, simple.

Chenle gives him a last hug before they leave. Kun holds onto the boy’s fingers as he slips away to Jeno and Mark. He hears his laughter all the way to Doyoung’s car.

Night falls over the town. If there’s one reason Kun won’t ever tire of Newcult, it’s the landscape of the mountain range. The endless sky and sunset over the grassy peaks are a sight that takes his breath away each time. The view always makes Kun feel lost, relieving any pressure or bad thoughts, rendering him and the outer world insignificant. Doyoung and him take the time to admire the scenery before entering the rec club, a short white building with spacious floors underground. The lounge is a dim-lit room with a marble-top bar, table games and loveseats arranged across the wooden floor. Many teachers from the group are already gathered, conversing and drinking together. Kun sees Johnny and Jaehyun hanging with a few around a table and setting down shot glasses.

Doyoung runs over to Jaehyun while Johnny beckons Kun over. He introduces him to one of the art teachers, a handsome man named Jungwoo who hands him a cup. Jungwoo is sweet and friendly, easy to talk to. They chat amiably while the rounds of alcohol start. Johnny’s leading the group and makes a quick presentation of Kun before they begin. Kun pinches his ear and nods shyly when all heads turn his way, everyone greeting him enthusiastically.

It’s too sudden when his eyes find Taeil’s at the end of the table. Kun jumps out of his skin when he sees him walk around and approach them. Taeil’s wearing his lanyard again, over a black silk blouse, and his cardigan is falling over his shoulders. Under the faint lighting, his face is softer, but the look in his eyes is dark, more intense. Taeil smiles at him and sits down. His eyes move to Jungwoo on Kun’s other side, and the two start to talk animatedly.

They play beer pong, Doyoung and Jaehyun taking turns with Johnny and other teachers across the table. Kun tries to keep calm, each second when he can feel Taeil brush against him, each time his voice and laughter boom right in his ear. At some point Jaehyun scores with a trick shot and they all lean forward to cheer, and Taeil’s hand slips onto Kun’s thigh. It’s gone as quick as it comes, but Kun chokes into his drink. He hides it with a quiet cough and then glances at Taeil. The man’s dark eyes are on him, penetrating, and he smiles.

They’ve taken out the hard liquor now, and people are starting to get rowdy, doing body shots and dancing around the bar. Kun’s feeling tipsy when Jaehyun props him at the table’s edge and hands him the ball. Jungwoo cries out when Doyoung pours a bottle into his cup to the brim, while Jaehyun comes up behind his fiancé and mouths at his neck. Doyoung giggles and brings the bottle to his lips.

Kun plays with Jungwoo, Johnny, and one of the gym teachers who goes by Ten. Taeil lingers around the table, picking up the ball when it falls out. Johnny switches the drinking consequence to body shots, to which Doyoung and Jaehyun teasingly remark is just so he can lick Ten’s neck. Kun lowers himself a little, feeling tired but still roused by the alcohol. After scoring another cup, Ten clumsily throws the ball and it whips past Jungwoo’s face. The man squeals and jerks back, the cup in his hands bouncing backward. The drink spills right into Kun’s eyes and nose, barely missing his hair. He startles up when he feels the cold liquid trickle down his neck and lets out an awkward coughing noise.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Jungwoo quickly apologizes, laughing with him. “Are you OK?”

Johnny and Ten are wheezing at the other side. The room is getting hotter, making Kun a little dizzy. He goes to wipe his face until Jaehyun interrupts him: “No, wait! Someone has to lick it off his face!”

Everyone cheers at this, and Kun doesn’t have a second to recover before Johnny points and shouts: “Oh, Taeil! Let Taeil do it!”

Kun freezes, hears all the noise in the lounge blow up in his ears, and he waves his hands in panic. Johnny and Jaehyun urge him on, the others bursting in laughter next to them. Without a word, Taeil turns to him and steps forward. Kun feels a hand on his cheek turning his head, and his mouth misses Taeil’s lips by an inch. He braces himself, violently like he’s going to be hit, when Taeil’s tongue slides out and drags up his cheek. It’s warm and soft against Kun skin, and he shivers, shutting his eyes. Taeil moves his tongue up to his eye and temple, then pulls away.

Kun’s breath is knocked out of his lungs. He staggers back while their friends cheer and resume the game. Taeil’s expression is unreadable. Faint and shaking, Kun asks Jungwoo for the restroom. He’s little aware of where the man’s pointing or what he’s saying, when all he can feel is the heat in his face, and the knots in his gut.

Kun carries himself across the lounge as quickly as possible, stumbling when he reaches the restroom at the back of the bar. The purple lights inside are dimmed, and the music dulls out. He walks to the wall in front of the mirror and glances around the empty room. The alcohol on his face has dried, sticking unpleasantly to his skin and hair.

He makes to go to the sinks when he hears the door open. The footfall approaching plasters him back against the wall. He holds his breath as he turns his head to see the shadow, Taeil walking up to him, his face half-obscured in the dimness. Kun’s body arouses with fear, but there’s also anticipation. They face each other in creeping silence, Taeil staring at him intensely. The cutting, fiery look burns into Kun’s eyes. Then Taeil utters, in a thick, throaty voice: “Once again, please.”

Without warning, his hands come to cup Kun’s face. Kun stiffens so hard his bones could snap, but Taeil doesn’t stop moving. His mouth reaches right where it was earlier, a breath away from Kun’s lips, and he drops out his tongue. It presses flat under his jaw, soft and slick, and Kun closes his eyes and shivers. Taeil drags his tongue up his cheek, dips it in the crease of his eye, and slips it past his forehead. Kun lets out a shaky breath when the fingers spread over his neck, holding him stronger. The silver bands press coldly against his nape, and Taeil starts over.

Kun tries to open his eyes while he licks his face up and down, hot and _wet_ , tasting every inch of his skin. Taeil laps at his eyelid, his teeth graze his nose, his parted lips brush against his cheek. For heated minutes he passes his tongue around, fluidly like he’s following a pattern, until the spit starts to accumulate and it becomes messy, hurried, desperate. Each time Taeil breathes close to his ear, Kun shudders enough to go numb. His head is spinning and he can hear himself pant. His fingers scramble against the wall and his knees are giving out, but Taeil doesn’t relent. His hands slide up Kun’s face, the bands collecting saliva, and he presses closer. When their bodies finally touch, Kun lets out a strangled moan, punched out of him from the bottom of his gut.

It’s what makes Taeil slow down and halt. He removes himself and all at once the burning heat in Kun’s body leaves to a frigid, empty cold. The buzz behind his eyes, the tingle on his neck, the thrumming under his skin—all gone. Taeil waits a few moments, then turns around and exits the room, leaving Kun to collect himself against the wall.

The blood rushes back in his body when he feels the saliva trail down his neck. He staggers toward the sink and quickly washes his face with soap, rubbing harshly beneath his ear, where the tickle of Taeil’s breath remains. When Kun looks at himself in the mirror, it’s like he’s someone else. The balm has smudged lightly in the corner of his lip, colour barely distinguishable. His eyes are glossed-over, blurring with the rest of his disheveled look. Taeil hardly even touched him, yet Kun feels _devoured_.

When he leaves the restroom and steps back into the lounge, it’s like he’s entered an unknown place. The lights and sounds hit him sober. He walks back to the table and hangs around Jungwoo. There’s nothing that really happens for the rest of the night. Kun knows Taeil is idling around, his presence like a ghost moving in his orbit. But he doesn’t find him again. Doyoung accosts him around midnight with that keen look in his eyes that says he wants to take Jaehyun home. Kun waves in goodbye at Johnny and hugs Jungwoo, before he steps outside in the moonlit, starry night.

The drive is quiet. Kun looks at Doyoung in the passenger seat and at Jaehyun in front of the wheel, then his eyes fall on their linked hands resting on Doyoung's thigh. The streetlights’ glow pours through the window and bounces off his ring.

Chenle and Jeno are asleep when they come back in the house. Mark is on the couch watching TV, lights off. Doyoung greets him briefly and shows Kun the guestroom before dragging Jaehyun up the stairs and closing the door. Kun washes up quickly and changes. When he comes back into the living room, Mark is still sitting in front of the TV, the moving light projecting onto his body. Kun sees he’s watching a crime show. The dispatched agent is making a list of murders in the region. Shootings, stabbings, drownings. Kun glances at Mark wearily. “Why are you watching this so late at night?”

He yawns. “It’s scary right? I know.”

Kun wishes him goodnight and leaves to the guestroom. All the noise vanishes when the door closes, locking him in the dark. He falls into the bed and strokes his cold face with his hand. It’s silent, dead silent in the room, and he falls asleep, not a thought inside his head.

 

—

 

Kun doesn’t have a favorite story. He likes his books all the same, mostly if he can learn something from them. Like Chenle, when Kun feels tired or sad, he tries a story to help him get through things. He’s not sure if it’s in that same logic, when he goes to take out the historical romances from his library. Kun’s not sure what he’s expecting, when he opens _Romeo and Juliet_ , and his eyes skim through to find a few distinct lines.

It’s been weeks since the party, yet Kun still feels Taeil on his skin. Anywhere he turns his head to look, the memory of Taeil’s tongue pressed against his face materializes and immobilizes him for a hot, frightful second. These days in his absence Kun feels stuck, trapped inside a replaying moment, like reading a paragraph and never absorbing any of the words. All he knows is that it _hurts_ , it burns, it’s agony—and he wants to feel it again. He doesn’t want it to disappear.

He thinks about Taeil’s slender hands on him, his warm tongue on his face, his smooth voice in his ears, his deep look arresting him. Kun wants the blossoming passion like in his books, written in the beauty of nature and simple feeling. The things Doyoung and Jaehyun have. Instead Kun finds the words _burden_ , _consume_ , _damned_ , _fire_ , _purge_ and _die_ , to answer the emotions in his heart. Taeil is like ash and bones, smoke, tracks, and marks, what’s left after the damage has been done. He’s a portrait etched into Kun’s memory, he’s an imprint, an afterimage. He’s a melody’s echo in his mind. He’s a lasting effect, but Kun finds himself wanting to live in the feeling of his event. A desire that increases as the days keep passing without them seeing each other.

It’s at the end of September when Kun receives another notice after the board’s monthly meeting. It’s an order of precaution from the school, as well as a warning. No kind of abuse is to be tolerated and any person with information regarding the situation must come forward. There haven’t been anymore incidents since the first one, but the rumors are still going around. Kun sees how discreet everybody is being around the students, including himself.

Chenle and him fall into a routine, and Kun knows they trust each other with everything. Everyday after school, Chenle waits with Jeno for Kun and Jaehyun to pick them up after work. On afternoons where they have longer meetings, Mark is the one who comes and takes them home first. Kun gets to know the boy better and learns he wants to go in music. Mark shows his instruments to Chenle and Jeno, who are immediately captivated. Chenle tells Kun he wants to learn to play the piano, and Kun has the wild idea to buy him one for his birthday.

Today is a usual day. Kun’s reviewing the template for a test when Jaehyun says he'll be working late and asks if he can drive Jeno home. He notifies him they’re in the music classroom. The thought of Taeil comes truly like an invasion, overwhelming Kun’s senses. He’s quick to gather his things and make his way down to the second floor, where the arts department is located.

He can already hear, inside the hallway, Taeil’s voice. It’s not very distinct, mixing with sounds of piano and saxophone, but Kun recognizes it anyway. He also recognizes it’s the same song, when the voice strengthens for the chorus, sound hanging in the air—Kun hears it without mistake.

He walks forward, body responding to the call. It grows louder and clearer as he reaches the classroom’s open door. Kun freezes when he sees Chenle on the piano’s bench with Taeil while he plays. Chenle taps a few keys on the last octaves, giggling with Jeno who’s sitting in front of them, a saxophone in his little hands.

“ _Even if it hurts, it’s all right_ ,” Taeil sings, slowly, serenely, “ _because I love you—_ ”

Chenle sees him and bounces off the bench. “Kun!”

Taeil’s voice drops as he turns his head, and their eyes meet. There’s less of the _blow up_ this time, just a mild heat that touches him everywhere, creeping over his face and rushing in his veins. Kun strides across the room to collect Chenle when he jumps on him. Jeno sets the saxophone on the table and skips over to him. “Is uncle Jaehyun here?”

“He’s working a little late today, so I’ll take you back with us first,” Kun replies, trying not to look at Taeil.

Chenle tugs at his sleeve and points to the piano. “Mr. Taeil taught me how to play! He sings really good!”

“He showed me how to play the saxophone too!” Jeno exclaims.

Kun smiles and caresses his cheek. He raises his eyes to see Taeil standing up and approaching them. “That’s very nice of him.”

Taeil doesn’t say anything, just smiles. Kun hasn’t seen Taeil in so long, it’s like the taste of water after a drought. Jeno pulls Chenle to him and Kun hears them run out of the room. He calls out without turning around: “Wait for me at the lockers.”

Their echo leaves the room. Taeil and him stare at each other unwaveringly. He’s growing more beautiful each time Kun sees him. Something has shifted between them now, Kun can sense it in the air, in the space between their bodies. It’s almost tangible, and it makes Kun restless, makes him lose all his composure. He’s unable to stop himself in time when he whispers:

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Kun closes his mouth so hard, his teeth knock together. Taeil actually reacts this time, surprise crossing his face. Kun panics before he can get a grip on himself. He’s about to turn around and retreat when Taeil interrupts him, raising his hand.

“I feel the same.”

Kun’s heartbeat turns to hammers, striking his chest enough to hurt. The warmth spreading in his stomach turns thick. He swallows and breathes out shakily, trying to think of a response. His eyes find the two bands on the man’s ring finger again. For the first time, Kun allows himself the thought to ask what they are. Taeil takes a step forward, and Kun has to restrain himself to not back away. He can’t help the shiver, however, when the man’s fingers skim over his wrist.

“I’d… Like to start over,” he says strangely. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

Kun’s thoughts stop, then slowly piece themselves up. Suddenly, there’s an easy warmth that pours in his chest. It’s light and sweet to his senses, gives him goosebumps. Is this what he wants, this palpitating, exciting feeling?

“I—would,” he answers, nodding. “I’d… I’d like that.”

Taeil smiles at him, soft and gorgeous, and Kun’s heart stutters. Something melts in the back of his head, calming him down. He rubs a hand over his neck, fingers coming behind his ear—it’s burning up. Taeil smiles even more, cheekbones pushing up his eyes, and Kun lets out a quiet chuckle. It makes Taeil laugh as well, and then they’re both giggling like children. Kun’s affliction is long gone, replaced by butterflies fluttering in his stomach. It’s not innocent, but it’s far from painful, far from the torture he survived. He looks at Taeil’s happy face, his bright smile, hears his lovely laughter. Why hasn’t he felt this before?

Then the man’s eyes climb from Kun’s chest to his throat and head, and he sighs, gladdened but worried. He closes his lips and swallows thickly. It’s a moment that passes in which Kun has no idea what just happened, as if something’s missing, or he made an error. Taeil smiles, and accompanies him out the room. They exchange numbers and leave the floor together. Taeil’s look is shy, distracted, a whole other thing than the one he gave Kun in the club lounge’s bathroom as he ate up his face. What happened to that?

Kun breaks out of his daze when he feels his phone vibrate. He takes it out to see Taeil’s name light up the screen, and it stretches the smile on Kun’s face.

 

_Hello_

 

—

 

Taeil lives on the elevated avenues of Newcult, the section that’s higher up in the mountain range of the town. The few houses there are expensive and give the most spectacular view. Kun was a little alarmed when Taeil proposed dinner at his home. He felt embarrassed at himself for being so inexperienced and acting so unnaturally, so he decided to turn to Doyoung for help.

“You have a date!” the man answers excitedly when he asked for Mark’s number, to know if he could babysit Chenle on Friday night. “Who is it?”

Kun hesitates for a second before replying: “Taeil.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen. “The music teacher?” he exclaims in surprise and accusation. “Wow. Johnny said there was something between you two.”

“Please don’t tell Chenle,” Kun mutters, flustered.

“I won’t,” Doyoung replies, smiling sharply. “But you better bring him to the wedding.” Kun chokes on his breath and Doyoung pats his face.

Doyoung doesn’t tell Chenle, but he does tell Jungwoo, who shares his office with Taeil and a few math teachers. Which is how Kun ends up in his room on Friday evening, Doyoung doing his makeup while Jungwoo lists him the things he knows about Taeil, from what he likes to his smallest tics. Taeil’s desk is the cleanest, and he keeps the festival trophy on it. He makes corny jokes, often spaces out, and always mixes up his locker box with the others. He also sings to himself a lot, humming the same lines of a song.

There’s something Kun wants to ask about Taeil, regarding the two silver bands on his finger, but he figures it might not be a sensible thing to bring about. Doyoung and Jungwoo give him a last pep talk in front of the mirror, but seeing his brushed-up figure in the reflection only makes Kun anxious. He never thought he could look any more changed, even since he dyed his hair.

Doyoung drives him uptown. The roads are curved and make up the trail across the mountains, marked by turnouts on the edges giving view of the town and range. Kun is seduced by the beautiful sight of the craggy mountains in the sunset’s red glow, the clouds’ shadows eclipsing the yellow forests. Taeil is lucky, if he can wake up and pass through this view everyday.

Doyoung pulls onto the terrain. Taeil’s house is a small cottage built in grey stones and a black ridged roof. It’s surrounded by plants, flower gardens and marble planter boxes. Doyoung waits until Taeil answers the door before he waves at Kun and drives away. In his black blouse and lanyard, Taeil eyes the car for a second, then smiles at Kun and welcomes him inside.

Kun’s heart is thumping in his chest when he finds himself alone with Taeil in the house. He’s a little surprised when he takes in the man’s home. The colour scheme and furnishing are clean and simple, almost systematized, perfect enough to be a model for a hotel design. There are round locks on the cabinets. The aroma of flowers lingers in the air with the scent of stir-fried vegetables. It’s overly warm.

Taeil walks in front of him and puts a hand on his arm. Kun stares at him for some time, feeling the heavy touch, and his mouth goes dry. Taeil is beautiful and inviting, his dark eyes always provoking Kun in some way.

“I’d like to apologize, dinner isn’t quite ready yet,” Taeil says. “You look delightful. May I take your coat?”

Kun blushes and nods, and he concentrates on the movement of his hands, the fleeting touch of their fingers. But then Kun sees the two silver bands again, and he falters. He’s overcome with a nervous feeling, mixing gradually with apprehension. Why hasn’t he thought more of them before? Taeil hangs his coat and walks behind the kitchen counter to the sauteuse on the stove.

“He’s the secretary, isn’t he?” he asks. “Doyoung. You’re friends?”

“Yes. We went to school together,” Kun replies, distracted. “He’s engaged to Jaehyun.”

Taeil hums and nods. Kun approaches the counter and glances again at the bands, the kitchen light shining on them. Then Taeil suddenly raises the wooden spoon in his hand, showing the side of his fingers to him.

“I’ve noticed…” Taeil speaks over the hiss of the cooking, but he doesn’t look at him. “…You’ve noticed them.”

Kun’s eyes raise from the bands. Taeil’s face shows no emotion and he doesn’t say anything more. Kun glimpses furtively around the room, searching for something, but he’s unsure of what. He feels unbearably tense now, shoulders stiff and hands set on the counter, fingers hardened around each other. There’s a pressure building up in his body, concentrating into a boldness that finally makes him ask:

“Are you married?”

Taeil’s hand holding the spoon loosens. He still doesn’t look up when he answers: “Yes.”

Kun stops, and he feels like a rockfall’s just crumbled onto him. Everything inside and outside his body abruptly turns hostile. His nails dig painfully into his skin.

“Wh… Where—who…” He swallows thickly and makes to retreat, but then Taeil puts the cover on the pan and approaches him on the other side of the counter. He reaches for plates in the cupboard. There’s no look in his eyes or tone in his voice, when he answers: “My husband. I buried him last year.”

Kun’s mouth falls open and he whispers: “Oh.” Once again, the feeling in his body transforms, now from anger to pure guilt. “I’m so sorry.”

Taeil takes out two plates and meets his eyes. They’re blank. He smiles. “Don’t be.”

But Kun can’t, feeling _wrong_ , wrong and bad. He doesn’t know why he wants to ask when it’s clearly none of his concern, but there’s a hundred thoughts running through his mind— _how did it happen_ , _is this why you moved_ , and _do you still love him_ —and he feels _evil_. Is something supposed to change? Does Taeil’s person change, now that he sees the man’s past? Kun examines the house that surrounds him, finding himself in Taeil’s life, his history.

The heartful emotion in him has left to a burdening weight. It’s obvious that Taeil’s caught on the tension, and he makes Kun sit at the end of the table while he sets the food. Kun looks at him fixedly, mixed feelings disputing his empathy. He feels terribly awful for Taeil, but he’s also saddened and frustrated at himself. What should he be doing? What right does he have to be involved with him?

“I moved to Newcult Town to start over,” Taeil says, as if responding. “I needed to put that behind me. So I came here. I was lucky the school needed more teachers.”

He pours them wine and dims the lights. Then he sits down next to Kun on the side of the table. He raises his glass and smiles kindly. Kun takes his and they clink them together.

“You taught music before?” Kun asks, to switch the subject.

“I worked in a community center in my old town. I gave lessons, too,” he replies. “What about you? Tell me about yourself.”

Kun unwinds, and he allows himself to fall into the mood of the date. It’s cordial and pleasant, a new experience for Kun. It feels simple, natural. Kun talks to him about Chenle, his literature studies, the stories he reads. The food is delicious, and he does his best to flatter Taeil as much as he can. Even with Jungwoo’s tips, Kun’s caught off-guard each time the man shies away or cracks a joke. It’s strange, but completely _genuine_. Taeil’s simple sincerity is incredibly attractive. Kun’s drawn to him in ways he can’t describe.

He learns that Taeil is slightly obsessed with music. He plays a lot of instruments and sings. It’s his biggest passion, his first love.

“Life is a lot like music, you know? You learn how to read the notes. You practice and play. You can make mistakes, that’s OK. You start over and try again. And again, and again.”

It’s a little odd, the way Taeil describes things, the way he pictures them. Kun’s never met someone so interesting, and he’s yet to admit that the man is mysterious. There’s something about Taeil that’s just enigmatic.

“Do you have a favorite piece?” Kun asks.

“Yes,” Taeil says, spacing out. “I—well, you remember the song I sang, the night we met.”

Kun’s head always reels at the memory. It’s still so vivid in his mind, the look in Taeil’s eyes, the beautiful sound of his voice, touching his soul. But that moment would always be associated with something else, the _burn_ and _hurt_ Kun felt in his body, the total violence that took over his heart. Was it love? Where was that rage like a hurricane inside of him now? Kun harbors the memory, and remembering it has become second nature to him. “I do.”

“It’s my dearest song,” Taeil reveals. “I’ll love it or I’ll die.”

Kun listens attentively, unsure what to say. Taeil picks the empty plates and serves them dessert—ice cream and fruit. Kun stares at him while he eats, feeling light, and mystified. His thoughts wander back to the afternoon they saw each other in the classroom, the singular questions Taeil had asked him.

“You wanted to know once if I should teach the future,” he relates. “What did you mean by that?”

Taeil smiles. “Well, if there is history, then there is necessarily future. Do you agree?”

“I do.” Kun watches him with amusement as he bites into his ice cream. “What about music?”

“Music is a constant,” Taeil immediately answers. “The subject of history has an opposite. For music, there’s not much to dispute. A piece is a piece, a song is a song.”

“But aren’t there variations?” Kun asks. “You… you can improvise. You can change a song too. Make different versions of them.”

Taeil takes another bite of his ice cream and looks through Kun’s eyes, pondering. “I suppose. But in a piece, there are strict things you need to follow. Tempo, signatures, notes… You read stories at your own pace, with your own interpretation. You can skip pages in a story. See the ending.”

Kun is quiet for a confused moment. There are things he wants to propose in objection, and he thinks Taeil is contradicting himself a little. “Stories have an order too.”

“ _History_ has an order,” Taeil says. “Not the future.”

He gives him a strange look, fond but serious. Kun isn’t sure if it’s the wine or the atmosphere, but something about it hypnotizes him. A familiar buzz comes inside his head, behind his eyes, and his blood thrums.

They talk for another hour, though the mood’s shifted, not in a bad way, but it preoccupies Kun. There’s a _heat_ , in them, all around them. Kun can feel it on the tip of his fingers, he can taste it on his tongue. Taeil keeps smiling, even through the pauses that come here and there, where they just stare at each other in silence. It’s not awkward, on the contrary, Kun’s never felt more relaxed around Taeil, though he’s aware it’s unusual the way they act around each other.

Around 9, Kun has to leave, and Taeil offers to drive him home. The mountain roads aren’t easy to navigate through at night, but it’s worth the splendid view of the stars in the dark sky. Taeil slows down at the edge of a curve and opens the roof of the car. The few lights of the town below the ledge glow brightly in the soft darkness. Kun gazes out, breathing in the night breeze. He turns around and hears the _click_ of a phone camera. Taeil’s eyes meet his and he looks so dazed for a second, his fingers holding the phone slip, and it slides, flips over, and falls. Taeil apologizes sheepishly before picking it up and Kun laughs, feeling his heart race.

Taeil drives him back downtown. Kun hears him humming softly, and recognizes the theme of the song. He lets himself be carried away by the soft sound of Taeil’s voice, flowing into the night. When they reach the front of Kun’s house, Taeil steps out with him and they stand in front of each other for a few moments. Taeil is beautiful, eclipsing the streetlights and stars above. Kun can see nothing else. Then Taeil takes his hand and brings it to his lips. He presses a gentle kiss on Kun’s knuckles, and his dark eyes bore into his. The contact sparks through Kun's skin, discharges up his arm to his body, and he shivers when he feels the quick bursts in his chest.

Their fingers cling together when they pull away. It makes Kun’s heart stammer and his head warm. He’s never felt so affected, so enthralled by someone, so much it should concern him. They bid each other goodnight, and Kun enters his house with the trace of Taeil on his skin, his voice in his head.

Mark is sitting on the couch, watching TV. He turns and smiles at Kun when he closes the door. “Hi. Chenle’s asleep.”

“Thank you,” Kun says. He notices it’s the same crime show playing. There’s blood everywhere.

“Good date?” Mark asks, grinning.

Kun smiles and pays him for the night. After Mark leaves, he cleans up, shuts all the lights and sneaks into Chenle’s room. He caresses the boy's head, his hair, kisses his eyes. When he takes Chenle’s hand next to the pillow, the boy clutches it tight, and sighs in his sleep.

 

—

 

Kun realizes, he remembered Taeil as an event. Their meeting had felt like a catastrophe, almost a _trauma_ —it was as if the world was coming to an end. Somewhere in the pages of Kun’s story was a chapter that turned everything upside-down. Threw him into a storm, dropped a bomb on his head, struck him down and out, _destroyed_ him and brought him back to life. Kun didn’t think there could’ve been anything more after Chenle’s advent, and yet Taeil appeared that night and gave him the shock of his life.

Once upon a time—but Taeil had _history_ , he had his own pages in his story. Their meeting wasn’t really the beginning. Taeil’s story starts somewhere else, sometime else. Kun can only live in their present, their moments now, these fleeting days in a small mountain town where they change together.

They go out the next week when Kun invites him to get ice cream at the parlour downtown before it closes for the winter. Every time Kun sees Taeil, his body still shakes up, his thoughts still have a fit. Taeil is like a sound he’s never heard before, a melody that entrances him instantly. He’s a painting Kun can never stop looking at. Always another angle to see from, more colours to find and new patterns to follow. Taeil is a piece without end, and there’s nothing about him Kun can get enough of.

Taeil talks about the compositions he’s chosen for this year’s band. He bites into his cone and laughs happily when Kun shivers while eating his ice cream bar. Taeil tells him the shop is his second favorite place in Newcult, which prompts Kun to ask what’s the first. Taeil smiles, takes his hand and leads him to his car.

The place Taeil drives to is a turnout, that’s right before the curve of the road where they stopped the night of their first dinner. Taeil pulls the car onto the small gravel space and steps out. Kun follows him and basks in the noon sunlight. The view of the snowy mountain range between the trees is stunning. Blue paints the sky while the warm colours of fall spread across the forest.

“It’s the first place I saw when I moved here,” Taeil says. “I really like this town.”

Kun turns to meet his eyes. They’re glimmering, full of hope and fondness, more happy than Kun’s ever seen them. The sunlight shines on his beautiful face. Then Taeil steps into Kun’s space and slips a hand onto his arm. His tender look roots him to the ground. Kun shivers when he feels Taeil’s grip tighten, and the slow circle he rubs on his wrist.

“The first time I saw you…” he whispers and smiles. “You ever hear a song, and immediately know you’ll listen to it for the rest of your life?”

Before Kun can speak, Taeil leans forward. Unconsciously, Kun braces himself for a pain he knows won’t come, and he shuts his eyes when their lips connect. It’s soft, light and quick, but the feeling that seeps through his mouth is vicious, burning, and sets his heart on fire. It’s nothing like he imagined it to be, but so much more than he could ever want. The kiss lingers on Kun’s mouth, heavy and poisonous, the taste almost tangible. It’s pink, it’s red, it’s purple, and round, and sharp, and it breaks onto Kun’s tongue, dissolving like a pill.

The breath he takes in is the most vivifying thing, stoking the flames in his chest, in his head, and he feels _revived_. The look in Taeil’s eyes suddenly darkens, and Kun thinks it’s a mistake when he sees his expression fall slightly. Taeil smiles sweetly and heat creeps up Kun’s neck, rushing to the tip of his ears. Taeil turns back and gets in the car. Kun follows him, going around to the passenger’s side. He seats himself inside and closes the door, but Taeil doesn’t start the car. They stare at each other for a tense, hot moment. Kun swallows and Taeil’s dark eyes trail down his neck. Taeil licks his lips, inches closer, slides his hand onto Kun’s thigh, and whispers into his mouth: “Again, please.”

He exhales when their lips connect, and this time it’s stronger, heavier, and incites an urgent feeling that drives Kun out of his mind. Taeil’s hands come to cup his face and Kun’s find his wrists. He parts his lips and lets out a shaky breath when the fingers spread over his neck, holding him firmer, and Taeil drops in his tongue. It presses flat against his teeth before slipping inside, soft and slick, hot and wet, tasting every inch of Kun’s mouth. For heated minutes they kiss, until Kun’s head starts spinning and it becomes messy, hurried, desperate. He whines low in his throat when Taeil’s fingers catch his ear.

Taeil pulls back, pupils blown and lips red. His body’s positioned awkwardly in the front seat, but he keeps pressing closer. Kun hasn’t a second to recover before Taeil gives him a curious look, then quickly moves his mouth across his face. The full-body shudder turns into a hard flinch when Taeil drags his tongue up his ear. He bites softly, drawing out a breathless moan from Kun’s mouth. Taeil laughs throatily, breath hot against his ear.

“I thought so.” He nips it one more time before moving back to his seat. The cold hits Kun like a punch. It feels like he’s been plunged deep underwater and hauled back up. Smile on his face, Taeil starts the car and drives them up the road.

“You’re going to kill me,” Kun chokes out, shaking. “You’re really going to kill me.”

Taeil doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes withers. Kun lets his head fall back and stares up at the sky. He breathes in the cold air and fresh scent of the high grounds. The wind isn’t enough to clear the fog in his head or chase the heat in his body. Taeil hums his song next to him, but his voice sounds rather sad.

Fall passes. Kun works hard, spends time with Chenle, and has more dates with Taeil. He isn’t sure if they’re in a relationship, especially because Taeil still wears his bands, but Kun likes what they have at the moment. He enjoys Taeil’s presence, his looks, touches and kisses. Most of the time Taeil is gentle, careful, but there are some strange moments where, even if he doesn’t act differently, there’s a noticeable change. Sometimes when Taeil speaks, Kun hears something else. When he stares at him long enough, his eyes seem to pass through him, and they become blank. It’s difficult to tell what he’s thinking. Those moments never put Kun at ease. He’s thrown back into the flurry of emotions of their first meetings, when his blood seemed to want to burst from his body. When the chills were so much he went numb. When one gaze was enough to break him down. Taeil is simple and everything but at the same time. He’s like an antinomy, stuck between two things.

The week before Chenle’s birthday, Kun decides to ask him for advice on buying a piano. He’s coming to the music room when the heavy sound of orchestra music erupts. He sees from the door, Taeil moving his baton while glancing down at the partition. Kun’s eyes follow the motion of his hand, then focus on his serene face while he watches the students play their instruments.

The bell rings. He waits until the class empties before he greets him inside the classroom. Taeil smiles happily. Kun asks about buying a piano for Chenle and Taeil invites him over to have a look at the model he has at home. While he leans over to gather a pile of papers, Kun pecks him in the corner of his lips. Taeil turns his head to kiss him. When they part, Kun sees his eyes are glazed-over, and his expression is a little severe. Before he can catch his breath, Taeil takes his face in his hands and kisses him again, harder this time. He pulls away and trails his hand down Kun’s chest while he walks away. Kun is frozen for a moment, breathless and trembling. Heat pools in his stomach, and his tongue is heavy in his mouth.

He calls Mark to watch Chenle for the evening. Kun knows he’s been spending more time with Taeil lately, missing dinners at home, but the boy doesn’t seem bothered. Kun lets him invite Jisung over. Mark’s brought his guitar with him, and they’ve started to play when Kun leaves the house.

Taeil greets him at the door with flowers. It’s the last from his garden since it’ll be winter soon. Kun notices his gaze is kind of off, dark eyes unfocused. Taeil takes him to his study where he shows him the piano.

“It’s a bit old,” he says, fingers skimming over the keys. “Out of tune, as well. If you want something simple for Chenle, you should start with a digital piano. If you want an acoustic one, I propose you get a vertical.”

Kun nods, but he’s not really listening. His eyes follow Taeil’s fingers dancing above the keys. Then Taeil turns around and takes out the pile of papers in his bag. He walks over to his desk and sets them on the edge. Kun paces around until he’s facing Taeil from the other side. They gaze at each other in silence. Something heavy sinks into the room.

Taeil observes him for a few more seconds, then his eyes drop to the stack on his desk. He brings the back of his hand to the bottom, then pushes. The papers slide over the desk, break apart, and fall to Kun’s feet. He frowns and gets down to pick them up. The second his knees touch the floor, everything in the room shifts. Kun abruptly freezes as the hot feeling shoots up his legs to the rest of his body. The breath is knocked out of him in one brutal motion.

His hands collect the papers clumsily. He can feel Taeil’s eyes on him while he reads a few words on the memos: _crescendo_ , _coda_ , _sforzando_ , _legato_ , _seconda volta_ … When he glances up, Taeil is staring down at him, a smile ghosting over his lips. His dark look overpowers him completely. With caution, Kun lifts the papers and brings them onto the desk. Taeil pulls his chair and sits down, and Kun doesn’t move.

He hears Taeil take the first paper and click one of his pens. Something thick forms in the bottom of Kun’s throat. As the sound of the pen scrawling on the paper drags on, he starts to hear his own breathing in the room. He looks at Taeil’s legs under the table where he faces them, and swallows strenuously. Without thinking, Kun shifts closer until he’s sitting under Taeil’s desk, inches away from his legs. The drag of his knees on the carpet is painful, and his body reacts to it instantly.

Kun is entirely overwhelmed. He feels buried. Taeil keeps correcting his papers, foot tapping from time to time. Kun has no idea what’s happening, and he can’t concentrate for a second with the heat rushing in him, the haze of anticipation clouding his thoughts. It feels like hours where nothing, absolutely nothing happens, but the itch under his skin is blowing up and becoming unbearable. He starts to squirm, clenching his hands and breathing out harshly, and he knows he can just get out, but he doesn’t. Something’s holding him on the floor. Taeil hasn’t even done a thing, and Kun’s already at his mercy.

“Taeil,” he whines softly. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. “Taeil.”

His hands are shaking. Taeil stops writing for a second and Kun hears him lean back on his chair. His voice is thick and deep when he speaks: “What is it?”

Kun breathes through his teeth and almost cries out. Unable to form a reply, he fists the cloth of his pants. Taeil lowers his voice even more. “What is it, hm?” he whispers. “You want to touch me?”

“Please,” Kun rasps, too aroused to feel shame. “Yes.”

There’s a suspenseful pause before Taeil breathes out and hums. “Well. Go on, then.”

It strikes Kun deep in the gut, gives him a head rush. But there’s panic amidst the outbreak of sensations in his body—Kun doesn’t know how to do this. Taeil and him should be talking, but Kun can’t even make out his thoughts anymore. There’s only the racket of his heartbeat, the weight in his knees and the isolating feeling under the desk.

Kun’s hands move onto Taeil’s thigh, slides them up until his fingers hook into the waistband of his jeans. He shudders when he sees Taeil’s already hard, and he parts his lips instinctively. Something takes over him. A bold, wicked, selfish feeling, and it’s so sudden and intense that Kun almost hits his head against the desk, when it pushes him forward on his knees.

It’s messy. Kun barely has any idea what he’s doing, and it’s graceless, making him anxious. He listens for Taeil’s breaths, tries to catch the reactions of his body. The taste of Taeil is like drinking honey—too strong, too much at once, but irresistible. Kun feels wholly _possessed_ by him, with the weight on his tongue, the fullness in his mouth, the invisible touch holding him down. And if there’s one thing in all this that urges Kun on, it’s the hot pressure training him on the floor. It’s the constricting air in the small space. It’s the _sting_ in his gut that makes him dig his knees into the carpet and swallow more than he can take.

Taeil doesn’t move at all, and it’s starting to frustrate him. Kun runs his tongue hurriedly, sucks and grazes his teeth over the skin, whines each time Taeil lets out any moans. He doesn’t know how long he’s been at it, but his jaw is starting to ache. He can feel tears brimming his eyes. His lips are numb, and his head is hurting. He claws at Taeil’s legs, the creeping heat of humiliation eating him up, and he’s so close to crying.

Then, without warning, Taeil’s hand finds his hair and grips it. What happens after is a blur: he hears the chair scrape on the floor, keys clinking and drawers being opened, and the next second Kun’s being crowded underneath the desk and on the floor. Taeil presses against him and crashes their mouths together. He drags his tongue all over Kun’s face then dips it in his ear, and it makes Kun lose the last of his senses.

There’s a precision in his movements that’s frightening. Taeil opens half of the buttons on Kun’s shirt and runs his hands down his chest. Kun’s head knocks against the desk and he arches up when Taeil unclasps his jeans. It’s too fast when he strips him down and presses something cold inside him. Kun flinches and cries out, and Taeil slots his mouth on his neck, sucking bruises over his collarbone while he works him open. Kun can’t move, can’t even catch his breath. It’s like the space is getting smaller by the second. He’s suffocating.

Taeil yanks Kun’s shirt down his shoulders and mouths at his ear. “You drive me crazy,” he whispers, and pushes in. Kun almost blacks out. His heart is crashing, shattering his ribcage. His lungs are on fire. He can hear himself moan and wail, but it’s deadened noise. His shoulders force against the desk while his spine digs into the floor, each time Taeil thrusts into him. The pitiful impression of the scene is what gives him a flicker of lucidity. It’s not exciting and it’s not comfortable, but Kun wants it so bad. He’s never felt so exhilarated, almost delirious. But he’s crying and he’s mad because he can’t even see Taeil’s face through all the tears.

Suddenly Taeil stops, and pulls out. Kun’s body jerks up in protest and he hisses. “No—” He can’t bear the missing heat, the looseness in his body. Taeil’s thumb comes to wipe his eyes. The lanyard is twisted around his neck. His expression is blank, but his eyes are sad, scared, and almost angry.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?” he says.

Kun just whines and tugs weakly at his blouse. “Please—” But Taeil moves back and pulls up his jeans. It makes Kun cry even more when he starts dressing him. “What are you doing—”

Taeil kisses his eyes and moves his hands away. Kun is frantic, shoving back and trying to pull him closer at the same time. He sobs out loud when Taeil pulls his shirt back up his shoulders and starts closing it. His head falls back against the desk and his body slumps in defeat. Kun covers his face with his hands and cries, dizzy, furious, going crazy.

“Come on,” Taeil apologizes. “Let’s start over.”

Kun wants to scream. Taeil slides out from under the desk and pries him over. Kun lets himself be dragged out and raised to his feet. The whole room is spinning and he can barely breathe. He’s sweating all over, clothes sticking unpleasantly to his skin. There’s something that wants to explode from him.

Taeil takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom. He closes the door, then picks out a key from his lanyard and locks it. He turns around and kisses Kun, soft and sweet, unhurried against his open mouth. It’s long and tortuous, drawing out the heat, the tension in Kun’s body, and makes him want to cry. He cups Taeil’s face and pulls him toward the bed. Taeil climbs on top of him and kisses along his jaw. He strips him slow, careful, taking the time to touch and taste every inch of his flushed skin.

“You’re so beautiful,” Taeil coos. He takes off his lanyard and unlocks a drawer of the nightstand next to them. Kun’s eyes follow the accessory when it’s thrown on the floor. Taeil pulls off his shirt and kisses him like he’s out of air.

He goes unfairly slow. Inch by inch, dragging, gentle, delicate. It’s agony. The scorching touches inflame all the terrible emotions in Kun’s head, raise the tremors in his chest. Kun feels like he’s dying. His body is breaking apart. The world is collapsing around him and it’s _bliss_. Taeil surrounds him until there’s nothing but his smooth voice and the look in his dark eyes. Loving, overwhelming, suffocating, and Kun succumbs to it.

When he comes, Taeil threads their fingers together and locks eyes with him. He mouths something against his lips, but Kun’s too gone to feel it. Taeil buries his head in the crook of his neck and stills. They don’t move for what seems like hours. Kun drifts in and out of consciousness, listening to the sound of Taeil’s voice as he sings softly.

“Even if it hurts, it’s all right…”

He’s caressing his head and hands him a glass of water. Kun downs it quickly, and it refreshes him for a moment before the sensation empties. His body is pleasantly numb, but there’s a faintest trace of nausea, planted in the bottom of his chest.

Taeil lies with him in bed for another hour. They talk quietly. Kun laughs into his neck every time he says something strange. Taeil strokes his face and kisses him, but his eyes are tired. His smile is strained.

“I’m sorry,” he says almost every minute.

Kun pulls him close and sighs against his lips. “Don’t be.”

Taeil’s hand cradles his cheek, and Kun feels the bands press under his jaw. He covers his hand with his. Taeil closes his eyes for a moment, then draws away. He picks the lanyard on the floor and hangs it back on his neck. They stare at each other for some time, then Kun dresses and follows him out.

The air outside is icy cold. He walks with Taeil down the terrain. When he crosses in front of the withering garden, Kun hears Taeil stop behind him. He turns around and falters. For a moment he’s scared, because the look on Taeil’s face is worried, and afraid. There’s a trace of pain, and it renders Kun speechless. Then Taeil asks something unexpected:

“Do you love me?”

Kun’s heart bounds to his throat. His mind goes blank. Taeil’s gaze is unwavering. Without thinking, Kun glances at the bands on his ring finger. Taeil takes a step back, then another, and he walks back to his house. Kun doesn’t follow or call out.

The drive home is stressful. Kun’s eyes fix on the road while he tries to overcome the vertiginous feeling in his body. For the first time, the heights of the mountain lands are making him sick. The sky is spinning above him.

When he comes back home, he pays Mark for the afternoon and makes dinner for Chenle and Jisung. Kun eats listlessly, doing his best to engage in Chenle’s conversations. He tells the boy, out of the blue, that he’s buying him a piano for his birthday. Chenle bursts out in excitement and hugs him around the neck, squeezing tight and babbling fast _thank-yous_. Jisung and him run to his room to pick out music sheets while Kun cleans the kitchen and washes up.

He comes in the living room to find the boys on the couch and watching TV, sound off. The silence is heavy, and Kun stops when he sees the familiar scheme of colours on the screen.

“What are you two watching?” Kun calls harshly. He approaches the back of the couch while his eyes follow the subtitles passing. A wife kills her husband, a man kills his neighbour’s children. It’s the same show.

“I just opened the TV! Mark left it there.”

“Change it, please,” Kun says. “Change it, Chenle.”

Chenle takes the remote and switches the channel. Kun tries to listen to their conversation, but he can’t hear anything over the ringing in his ears. The TV’s light projects onto their bodies, moving aimlessly.

 

—

 

Kun doesn’t know if he’s in love. There’s an array of emotions that he feels, and they’re all in confrontation with each other. It’s always either too fast or too slow. Some of it is kind, affectionate and fond, makes him really feel for Taeil. Some other of it is the contrary, a rush, a ravage, a _ruin_. A sinking, tortuous, uncontrollable thing. There’s something about Taeil that just affects him. Something in his voice, in his dark eyes. Taeil’s eyes never cease to provoke him. They’re triggers on their own. Kun starts to wonder. What does Taeil see when he looks at him? What does he feel when he holds him close, what does he think of when they stare at each other in silence?

Time passes. Kun buys Chenle the vertical piano for his birthday. He spends time with Doyoung and Jaehyun. He works hard for his classes and projects. He keeps on seeing Taeil. They eat lunch together, drive around town, go out on more dates, have sex, and not once do they bring up the subject again. They both know a barrier has formed between them, taken shape in the two silver bands on Taeil’s finger. They’re always there for Kun to see and grieve over. And he knows he’s starting to feel envious.

After the winter break, Taeil focuses on band practice to prepare for the music festival in April. Kun learns he’s a perfectionist, to the point where it seems unhealthy. Taeil is very kind with the students, but makes them start over more than often when they practice. He tells Kun it’s the best way to focus and remember the mistakes, so not to repeat them. He says it in a wistful tone, and a solemn look in his eyes.

Kun comes to understand at some point, Taeil is strange. His home is strange. The layout of the colours and furniture is too impersonal. Almost every drawer and cabinet are built with a lock. It doesn’t feel like a home. Taeil himself seems like a construction that’s hard to access and familiarize with. Whenever Kun thinks they’re being intimate, Taeil will do or say something out of place, or space out, anything that makes things seem like an illusion. It’s odd, the different ways he acts. How he changes each day without changing. Kun feels like he’s constantly opening a book after losing the page. He never finds where Taeil is in their story, and it’s starting to feel like he’s running out of time.

One night in February, Chenle has a sleepover at Jisung’s with Jeno. Taeil invites Kun to stay the night. They have dinner and try to watch a movie, but not even after five minutes Taeil crawls on top of him and kisses him furiously. Kun carries him to the bed and _wrecks_ him. It’s hurried and desperate, and the look in Taeil’s eyes is mad. Kun fully surrenders to it—it feels like he’s being eaten alive, and yet he can’t get enough of him. Taeil is intoxicating, and Kun thinks as he screams into the night, he would freely breathe in him until he dies.

 _Is this love?_ He rests against the pillow, _Romeo and Juliet_ in his hands, while Taeil brushes his teeth in the bathroom. Kun’s eyes find and count each of the locks in the room. Maybe he’s scared to open his heart like Taeil keeps his own things sealed. Maybe he’s afraid to love Taeil, maybe he’s afraid to lose him. Is Taeil afraid to love him—is he afraid that Kun will love him? Or does he fear something else?

Taeil comes back to the bed and presses against him. Kun’s fingers move languidly over the page, eyes floating over the words. _These violent delights have violent ends_. Taeil kisses the tip of his ear and stares at him.

“I always wondered. Why did you dye your hair?”

“Chenle wanted to dye his last summer, but I thought he was still too young,” Kun says, touching his roots. “So I agreed to do it instead.”

Taeil hums. “The colour looks good on you. I think blond would look nice as well.”

Kun smiles. “I think you’d look good in red.” He turns his head to him, but then his expression falls. Taeil has a grave look on his face. It seizes Kun all of a sudden, and spreads chills up his spine. He’s never seen him look so somber. Taeil removes his lanyard and sets it on the nightstand before shutting the lights. When they settle in the bed, Taeil locks his arms around his chest. He sighs into his neck and clings to him tightly. Despite the warm weight, it makes Kun feel anything but safe. It takes him a long time to fall asleep.  


He wakes up from a nightmare. He doesn’t remember it at all, but there’s the unmistakable feeling of a freefall lingering in his body. His head throbs painfully. He’s sweating all over, shivering and out of breath. Taeil’s not in bed. Kun sits up, and he’s immediately hit with a wave of nausea.

“Taeil?” he whispers. There’s a line of light under the door. He glances at the clock. It’s almost three in the morning.

He loses his balance for a second when stands up. He calls Taeil again, but there’s still no answer. It’s silent inside the house, and fear creeps over him. He staggers toward the door and opens it. The kitchen light is on. The second Kun steps into the room, he chokes on a scream and freezes. Taeil is sitting on a chair in front of the table, his back against Kun. He’s staring ahead at the stove and counter, completely still.

Kun is petrified for a few seconds, his heart crashing in his chest. Taeil doesn’t move at all. Kun shuffles behind him and lays a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Taeil?”

He hears him breathe. Taeil’s fingers come to touch his. Kun’s eyes catch the light bouncing off the two bands. The moment right then makes Kun lose the last of his patience. He can’t take this anymore.

“Taeil, what’s wrong?” He grips his hand, lowers himself and circles his arms around the man’s neck. When their cheeks touch, Kun notices Taeil’s crying. “What’s going on?”

Taeil speaks in a voice that’s unrecognizable. “Do you love me?”

This is it. Kun feels aggravated, sick and terrified. He’s not awake enough to grasp the answer in his heart, but seeing Taeil like this agonizes him. “I don’t know.” He sighs shakily and presses closer. “I don’t know, Taeil, I’m sorry. Do you love me?”

Taeil’s hand slips from his and falls to the table. It balls into a fist, knuckles turning white. Kun pulls back at once and retreats to the doorway. Taeil doesn’t move. The dread fully settles into Kun’s body, and it’s so intense that he could throw up. What is happening? Why won’t Taeil turn around?

“I’m going to make some tea,” Taeil mutters. “You can go back to bed. I’m sorry for waking you.”

Kun doesn’t really hear it, concentrated on staying conscious. He waits a few more seconds, and when Taeil still doesn’t move, Kun turns and hurries to the bedroom. He almost starts running when he hears Taeil’s smooth, broken voice echo behind him. The song hangs in the air.

Kun falls down in front of the nightstand. The pain in his chest is unbearable, he feels like fainting. His fingers grasp at the nightstand while he tries to calm down, and he knocks something over. It’s the lanyard. Kun turns on the lamp and finds the keys on the floor. There are three of them: a car key, a house key, and one he recognizes is for the locker boxes in the school’s offices.

He’s distracted for a moment by the glint of the lock of the nightstand's drawer. His thoughts mix up. He takes the house key and opens the drawer to find medicine. Kun is barely aware of what he’s doing, until he sees the objects inside. Three fissured picture frames and a plant pot, all used and empty. Kun frowns and closes the drawer.

His senses start to catch up to him when he goes to open the cabinet in front of the bed. More empty pots, but also a few books in a row. It looks innocuous, but Kun stops when he notices something about them. He takes the first book out and realizes there’s only the hard cover. All the pages are ripped inside. He goes through the other books. Only half of them are intact.

Kun shuts the cabinet. His hands are shaking when he unlocks the next one. His thoughts scream at him to stop when he sees photo albums stacked neatly inside the shelving. He picks one up and flips through it. His heart falters when he notices half of the pages are missing, and judging from the jagged shapes of the plastic, they’ve obviously been cut out. The only pictures are of Taeil, smiling against different backgrounds.

Something about the cutting is disturbing. It’s careless and brutal, not at all precise. All the objects are stored in such a simple fashion that there’s no questioning their presence, or why Taeil keeps them hidden, but it’s the impression of something missing in them. Something that’s been removed, and rather violently.

He slides the album back and sifts through the others. When his eyes find the last one, his blood runs cold. The cover is badly burned and punctured with what looks like cutter holes. Kun shudders when he sees that everything is scorched inside. He turns it around and notices the stamp imprinted at the bottom. It’s faded, but he recognizes the wedding ornament.

The sound of footsteps enters the room, and Kun shoves the album back inside. He turns around to see Taeil at the door, his face obscured in the dark. There’s a shadow over his eyes. They stare at each other in tense, frightening silence. Taeil extends his arm and lays out his hand. Kun closes the cabinet and approaches him, slowly, warily. He lifts his hand holding the lanyard, and flinches when their fingers touch. Taeil takes it, and the last of Kun’s composure exhausts. He gathers his voice and forces himself to speak, over all the tremors in his body: “Taeil. Where’s your husband?”

It’s a short pause before he answers, void of emotion: “He’s not here.”

Kun swallows and takes a step back. Taeil doesn’t move, and it makes it even more unnerving. Kun whispers: “What happened to him?”

Silence. The headache is coming into sight, blotting his vision, and Taeil’s figure blurs in the obscurity. Kun braces himself when he steps forward. In a second, the noise in his ears vanishes and the air in the room empties. He holds the last breath in his throat.

“I told you. I buried him,” Taeil says. “And his lover too.”

Soundless. It’s like a hole’s opened beneath Kun. Something in his body _shatters_ , carrying all the words deep into the ground. Dread rapidly turns to horror. He staggers back, breath torn out of him when his back hits the wall. A million things pass through his head, but none make it out of his mouth.

Taeil shuts his eyes and brings a hand over his face. He’s scowling. “Why did I say that,” he breathes out.

Kun gapes at him wide-eyed and presses his fists against his temples. “You…”

“No—not again—” Taeil claws at his eyes. He lets out a furious noise. “ _No!_ ”

Kun recoils against the wall. Taeil throws his arms down and walks closer, but Kun shakes up and scrambles away. “No! No—stay away from me!”

“Please—” Taeil raises his hands and stops, “—listen to me, Kun. Please.”

Kun’s breath hitches and he panics. He glances frantically around the darkened room, in the dim-lit space where Taeil’s cornered him. The walls are closing in—he’s going to suffocate. He forces himself to look at Taeil, and immediately, he feels time come to a stop. His thoughts fail, crash, and die.

“Why is this happening… This isn’t supposed to happen… It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Taeil murmurs. His eyes are completely blank. “We made our vows. He said to me: I love you until I die.” There’s an upsetting pause, then his lips curve upward. “And I said: I’ll love you or I’ll die.”

Kun repeats the words in his head, knows he’s heard them before. The meaning suddenly changes, and Kun has a split-second of clarity where he thinks he understands. Where all of this—Taeil and him, Taeil and his past, pieces together like a story in disorder. But it’s _senseless_ , and leaves Kun more terrified than before. The man in front of him isn’t Taeil anymore. It’s someone else, someone adrift, trapped in the past.

“It had been going on for a while,” Taeil says slowly. “I thought… I could do with it. After all… he gave me his vow, didn’t he?” His eyes fix into the emptiness. “He said he loves me until he dies. He swore it to me. So it didn’t matter.”

It’s unintelligible. Kun has no idea what he’s saying but he knows it doesn’t make any sense. Taeil’s lapsed into his memories. It’s the same lost look Kun’s seen on him so many times.

“That night…” Taeil mutters, to Kun, to himself. “He never looked so frightened. He cried. I told him that it was all right, even if he hurt me. Even if it hurts, it’s all right. It’s all right. I love you. I love you…”

Kun’s breath releases into a cry. Taeil blinks and focuses back on him. His eyes darken and his expression twists. “I asked him to sing it for me. We could go through this together.” He starts to sing. “ _Even if it hurts, it’s all right, because I love you…_ ”

It’s awful, grating. Kun shuts his eyes and shudders violently. Taeil’s soft voice assaults him, but even if he’s scared out of his mind, Kun just knows he won’t come closer. Some part of him has proof.

“It was just a mistake… Everyone makes mistakes. We could start over again,” Taeil says. His eyes are lost. “I needed to start over. But then the next thing I knew, my hands were around his throat.”

And the thread is lost. Kun’s heart drops to his gut. The images materialize in his head, and he remembers all the times Taeil’s touched him, feels again the same hands on his skin. It’s _atrocious_ , vile and appalling, and Kun feels himself about to vomit.

He clamps a hand over his mouth. This can’t be happening. But Taeil keeps on talking. “I didn’t want to… I really didn’t want to. As soon as it was done, I knew I made a mistake… I had to start over. I had to start over…” His lips are trembling. He whispers it like a vow. “I ran. I came to Newcult. All the towns here are so small, nobody cares.”

“Why—” Kun chokes out, shaking. The thoughts keep running through his mind—w _hy did you kill him_ , _how could you do this_ , and _do you still love him—_ he’s _evil_. And yet, does something change? Now that Kun sees the man’s past, what does it mean? “Why…”

“Because he swore it to me…” Taeil utters. His voice is gone. “He loves me until he dies. I…” He breathes out shakily, and Kun hears him sob. “I think about it sometimes. I think… I wanted to make him keep his word. How could I know if he would still love me after? I wanted him to keep loving me until the end. And… that was the only way I could be sure. That he kept his vow.”

Kun tears his hand away, and tears fall down his face. He can’t make out anything but Taeil’s figure in front of him. They hold each other’s gaze in dead silence. Then Taeil smiles painfully. “Do you think I’m insane?”

Kun wants to hit him. He wants to scream and punch Taeil in the face, scream at him for doing this to him, to them. For touching him with the same hands he killed those people with. For kissing him with a mouth so cruel. For utterly _devastating_ his mind and body from the first night they laid eyes on each other. For making him fear love and now ruin everything. All of this is his fault, and Kun wants Taeil to _pay_ —what is this now? Why is his heart being ripped apart? When did he start raising so much rage, so much spite? The thing that’s been planted in his soul is devouring him, but he’s still here. He can’t do it. He can’t he hate Taeil. Why can’t he do it?

“And you,” is what Kun ends up saying. It’s clear now in his head. He levels him with a glare. “ _You_.”

Taeil seems shocked for a moment. It’s with all his lucidity and control that Kun steps forward and stares him down. “Your vows. You’ll love him or you’ll die. You either love him or you die. Is that it? Is—” Kun gasps and chokes up. His words are going faster than he can speak. “Is this—is this why you’ve asked me? If I love you? So you—so you can decide if you still love him? Do you want to die? Or do you want to fucking kill me if I don’t love you?”

He falls to his knees right as he says it, lurching forward and crying out in pain. Taeil crouches down to hold him, but Kun pushes him away. “No—don’t touch me! Don’t—I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Taeil’s silence is more hurtful than he’d anticipated, but Kun can’t linger on it. The walls and furniture surround him, and it feels like he’s going to be caught if he doesn’t escape. He’s hardly aware of anything while he gathers his things in the room and gets out of the house.

The moon is falling over the mountains. Kun steps out in the terrain and hears Taeil follow him. He’s about to bolt to his car, scream at the top of his lungs, even turn back and actually fight Taeil, but none of it happens. Instead he turns around and meets the man’s eyes in the darkness. Taeil is still in his nightwear, his breath white over his mouth, and a devastated look over his pale face. Kun’s heart breaks, and he wants to cry it out of his body.

Taeil approaches him until they’re face to face, in front of the frozen garden. His gaze is absolutely dead, empty, washed-out. It’s not even a gaze. Just a pair of eyes, lost in space.

“I love you,” Taeil says.

Kun’s brain shocks. Grief mixes with outrage, and he’s so overwhelmed for a moment that he can’t breathe. Even when he thinks the feeling will pass, Taeil is always going to knock him out, one way or another. Shake him to the core and burn him inside out. Kun tears his eyes away and turns around, running down the terrain. He finds his way to the car, but everything has changed. Nothing can touch him under the numbness of his body.

The night lightens in the horizon. Kun drives as fast as he can, past the dusky view of the mountain range, going down the curved roads. Through all the turmoil in his head, he clings onto the thought of Chenle. He slows down at the curve and glimpses up at the endless sky. The stars are moving, crashing down onto the earth.

 

—

 

Chenle comes home with him one afternoon and starts crying. The pressure that’s been building in Kun for the past weeks blows up when he sees the tears in the boy’s eyes, and he breaks down. He wraps Chenle in his arms, holds him for long minutes, and cries with him. Through his coughs and sobs, Chenle tells him what happened at school. One of his classmates was silent when the teacher asked her to answer the question number. When she tried to touch her, the classmate threw herself back and started crying. The teacher was so afraid and went to call the principal, then the boy next to the classmate started to cry as well. They begged her not to call, but they had no choice.

“They wouldn’t say who it was. They said they would get hurt if they did…” Chenle hiccups and clutches Kun’s hand. “I’m so scared…”

Kun shushes him and kisses his eyes. “It’s OK. It’s going to be OK. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’ll never let anyone hurt you.”

That night when he puts him to bed, Chenle asks if he can play the piano for him. Kun replays a lullaby until the boy falls asleep. Then he takes out _Romeo and Juliet_ and reads it until the end.

The week passes and there are no notices. Kun almost never lets Chenle out of his sight. He’s restless, it’s enervating and he can’t endure it. It’s been a month since he’s last seen Taeil, and Kun feels absolutely beaten. He didn’t even think about going to the police, as it almost couldn’t settle in his head what Taeil had done. They’ve made no contact with each other, and Kun won’t allow it either. He’s deleted Taeil’s number, but he desperately wants to erase all of him from his history. He wants to go back in time and change everything. He wants to rid the print of his hands on his skin, the voice in his head. He wants to bury Taeil.

And yet it hurts, it burns, it’s agony. The days in his absence makes him feels stuck, imprisoned in a sentence that keeps repeating. Sometimes it feels like a nightmare that never ends. How could he forget about Taeil, after all they’ve been through? Kun never wants to forgive himself for getting involved with him. He should’ve known from the beginning. His heart had given him all the signs that they would crash and fall apart, from the very first night. And now Taeil lives in him forever, his event like an injury, a scar over his head.

One day after a late meeting, Doyoung accosts him at the office with Johnny and Ten. Johnny talks about a petition the teachers' group has organized, an official document that would set up a police investigation for the school’s staff. It’s a tight-knit community since they’re a small town, and people trust each other, so Johnny tells him it’s more of a precautionary measure.

Kun signs next to his name. Doyoung’s hand suddenly comes to cover his, and Kun’s eyes fall on his diamond ring. He’s filled with anger—it’s taunting him. He hands the document to Johnny and lets Doyoung pull him aside. He glances at the ring before looking at his friend. His friend who was perfect, who was going to get married, who was going to love forever. Why couldn’t he have had a story like Doyoung’s? Tender, passionate, beautiful, everything Kun could have wished for. Did Taeil and him love each other simply, wholly like Doyoung and Jaehyun?

“Kun,” Doyoung whispers. His expression is stricken with worry. “Taeil hasn’t signed it.”

The anger bursts into rage. There’s a flash of desperation when Kun realizes what’s going on, and he feels his heart crumble in his chest. What if they dig into Taeil’s past, what if they find what’s happened? But if Taeil doesn’t sign the document, he’ll be convicted as a suspect. Any way it ends, it ends in failure—everything is a disaster.

“I don’t know if you two are… Still seeing each other,” Doyoung says. “I wanted to ask if you would talk to him.”

“I’ll go talk to him,” Kun croaks. He sidesteps Doyoung, gathers all his things and hurries out of the office. Doyoung calls his name, but it’s lost—it’s been lost a long time ago.

Kun runs to the second floor and finds Jungwoo’s office. He doesn’t take the time to compose himself before he reaches the door and steps inside. There’s no one in the room but Taeil, standing in front of the rows of locker boxes. He turns his head and their eyes meet.

Kun remembers this feeling. The sensation of being seized, wrung-out and razed to the ground. His heart explodes in his chest and a terrible heat creeps over him. Furious, desperate, always there to ignite the thing inside Kun’s soul. Even after all this time, all the pain, the heartache, Taeil keeps coming to him like a storm. He’s a fire that never extinguishes. A piece without end.

Kun marches over to him. Closer, he sees how exhausted he looks. There are circles under his dark eyes that are full of hurt. His black hair falls over his temples. His mouth is closed, dry lips tightened into a line. Though his expression is blank, Kun can sense he’s afraid. They stare at each other in silence, until Kun can’t stand it any longer.

“Taeil,” he says.

A broken smile takes over Taeil’s face, cutting out his cheekbones. “Kun,” he answers inaudibly.

It’s heart-wrenching. Kun feels breathless, shaken. The look, the voice—it’s suddenly so agonizing to be in Taeil’s presence again, and he almost breaks down in tears. Why won’t this feeling end? Why can’t it die? Why can’t Kun ever stop coming back to him?

He eyes the two silver bands and steels himself. But the only thing he manages to say is: “The document, Taeil.”

A tense moment passes. Taeil’s expression twists. Then he suddenly lets out a laugh, dry and unkind. It makes Kun lose his nerves. He glares at Taeil while the man picks the key from his lanyard and turns to the locker boxes.

“I killed my cheating husband. You think I molest children?” he bites out. “We’re not in the same tonality.”

This again. The strange things Taeil says, the ways he says them. Kun starts back in shock. “What—no—Taeil, this isn’t about music!” His hands fist his hair and he sighs in frustration. “It’s not harmonies or whatever! I’m not to here to accuse you of anything—don’t you see what’s going to happen?”

“You think I’m not aware?” Taeil retorts. He pokes his key into the box at the bottom, then frowns and shakes his head, before moving it to the one above. “It’s not like I’m the closest with the group, amongst the teachers. I’ve only been here a year. You’ve been in this town all your life.”

Taeil unlocks his box and takes out a few papers. He shuts it and walks over to his desk. Kun paces around until he’s facing him from the other side. There’s an object lying at the edge, a gold globe without a stand. The carving shows the ornament for the Vision Festival.

“I came to Newcult to start over,” Taeil suddenly says. Kun raises his eyes, and they gaze at each other tensely. “Everything was perfect. But then I saw you, and I made so many mistakes. Each time I saw you, I messed up. I wanted it to be perfect, this time. We needed to be perfect.”

And Kun realizes then how much he hates it, the singular way Taeil describes things, the way he pictures them. The way he makes things sound when it’s not the case. He’s obsessed—no, he’s _lost_. It’s what Kun believes, and the torment leaves to a transparent sorrow. It’s not light, it’s not violent, just heavy, a hopeless weight enough to finally make him realize, make him give up.

“It’s not a problem if it’s not perfect,” Kun replies, articulating each word. “It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

Something in Taeil’s eyes shifts, and they widen slightly. Grief crosses his face and takes over his expression. It’s pitiful, miserable, unbearable to watch unfold. Taeil lowers his head and tears fall onto the desk. He brings his hands to his eyes and stills. Without thinking, Kun leans forward and takes his wrists, drawing them away. His heart is aching so much, but he doesn’t know what he wants to feel anymore.

Kun tries to grasp his fingers when they part, but Taeil slips away. The touch lingers painfully. It makes Kun’s heart hurt even more.

“I’m going to sign the document,” Taeil finally answers, eyes blank. “You won’t see me anymore.”

It’s an admission of defeat, the call for the ending. Kun knew this was coming, and yet he still isn’t capable of enduring it. Regret overcomes him. Kun has no idea what to do anymore. How did they ever end up here? Where in their story did it all go wrong?

The sound of footsteps enters the room. Kun turns around to see Jungwoo make his way to his desk. Taeil goes to clean his things and Kun leaves the office. He carries himself out, slowly, dragging, like it’s the last time he’ll see Taeil, the last time he’ll hear his voice. Tears spill down his face. Is it done? Is it over? Kun’s head feels utterly demolished, and his heart is tearing.

 

—

 

Chenle makes friends with a student named Jaemin and tells Kun all about how sweet he is one Friday afternoon. Jaemin shares classes with Jeno and is in the orchestra band. Chenle tells him he wants to join the class next year. Kun caresses his head and smiles sadly.

It doesn’t pass. Each day the ache in Kun’s body grows worse. It becomes so violent that it seems to want to break out of his skin. Some nights it’s so painful that he can’t sleep. He lies awake until dawn, wondering if Taeil is thinking about him, if he’s hurting like him. Kun watches the sunrise over the mountain range. Each sight over Newcult is tragically beautiful enough to bring tears to his eyes. Everything around him gives him grief. Kun is mourning something he never brought to life.

Doyoung tells him Taeil’s signed the document, and that they’re still missing some members from the board and a math teacher, but it should be processed by the beginning of April. Kun works as much as he can, keeps his spirits up when he meets with his friends, but all of it feels worthless. It’s like he’s living aimlessly. Is this heartbreak? This sense of emptiness, this suffering that’s ripping him apart. Sinking, tortuous uncontrollable… Didn’t he ever love Taeil? Wasn’t there a moment when they were happy, when they were truly, wholly in love?

Taeil’s eyes are still burned into his memory, his voice still in his head. He’s detonated something in him, and Kun can never get that back. He can never turn back. The time ahead of him has never looked so bleak, so empty. Blank pages to come. It’s an interval of time in which Kun’s stopped envisioning a future at all, but like everything else, it doesn’t last.

One night, Chenle holds his wrist back when Kun makes to leave his bedside. The boy’s eyes are weary, frightened. Kun wraps him in his arms until he tells him. It’s a secret, _Jaemin told Jeno and Jeno told me._ A classmate of Jaemin’s was hurt by a teacher. He got his necklace taken. Something is going to happen if he tells.

It’s like hell on earth. Kun feels _wrath_. He looks at Chenle, his nephew, his little brother, his heart’s fury, his first love. The beautiful baby he held all those years ago. The thought of anybody laying a finger on him makes Kun see red, and it’s what gives him clarity again. Chenle is everything he loves in the world, he’s his story, his pages to come. He can’t ever sacrifice that for anything else. Kun needs Chenle, and Chenle needs him. He loves the boy or he dies.  


It’s the first day of spring. There’s a cleaning routine for all the departments, which means they’re working late. Kun’s prepared a dinner in advance for Chenle and promises him he’ll be home before 7. Chenle tells him he loves him before he leaves, and Kun holds onto the boy’s fingers as he slips away.

There’s something in his soul that’s just _decaying_ , as time passes. Each minute he feels the ache in his heart is a minute of torture. Kun tries to focus on working, but his thoughts always stray back to Taeil. It’s impossible to be free of him. No matter how much Kun tries to force himself out of him, the pull is too strong, the weight is too heavy, it’s like he’s being absorbed. It’s a black hole. He can’t get out of Taeil, and Kun realizes with terror, it’s what made him scared to love him. Everything was too strong, too fast, too much and _not enough_ all at once, and he couldn’t take it. Even when they tried to take it slow, to brake, they were slipping, and dropping, and falling.

 _It’s too late but I loved him_ , Kun concedes, _I really loved him_. Sometime, somewhere, somehow. There was a part of Kun that loved Taeil, the tender look in his eyes, his lovely voice, the passion in his song, in his music. Those beautiful days under the sunlight and long nights in each other’s arms, like it was just the two of them in the world. He loved him and some part of him still has to. Kun needs him now that they’re apart, now that he’s gone. In the end, he can’t let Taeil go.

It’s too late. He should’ve been done cleaning an hour ago, and most of the staff have already left the building. Ten was the last person he saw on the floor, and now that Kun’s alone, the breakdown becomes clear, and he truly feels the despair. The pain is unbearable.

He gazes out the window when he hears the patter of rain on the glass. The night’s fallen early on the town, but Kun sees through the darkness, Taeil’s car parked in the school’s driveway. He’s still here. Without a second of thought, Kun collects his things and races down to the second floor. He doesn’t even know what he’s going to go do, just that there’s an urgent, erratic feeling driving him to Taeil, urging him before time runs out, before he loses him.

He’s breathless when he reaches the door. There’s no one in the room but Taeil, standing in front of the rows of locker boxes. He turns his head and their eyes meet.

People eternally talk about fate. Kun believed in it for Doyoung and Jaehyun, and he believed in it for Chenle as well. But now, as he finds himself in this familiar scene, staring into Taeil’s eyes, he wishes that this weren’t fate. He wishes things had been different. Could he have loved Taeil if it wasn’t for his history? If Taeil never had his past, if they were just two simple people crossing paths, could they have had something else? Would that even be what Kun wants? He doesn’t want what Doyoung and Jaehyun have. He wants all the same moments he had with Taeil, from the first night they met. Those things, no matter how painful, that made him _feel_ so much, enough to kill him.

Kun walks over to him. Taeil is always beautiful. He’s like a flower that never stops blooming. Kun wants to tell him so many things, he wants to pour his heart out to him, to admit defeat, scream and cry, but all he can say is:

“I miss you.”

Nothing in Taeil’s worn-out eyes changes, though Kun can sense he’s worried. Taeil smiles weakly, but it’s sincere, and revives Kun’s breaking heart.

“I feel the same.”

His voice is still so smooth and mellifluous. How could this man ever bring him so much grief? If only Taeil wasn’t so afraid of faults, if only he could keep trying instead of starting over. But then he would have never come to Newcult and they would have never met. If Taeil feels the same as Kun, does he still think killing his husband was a mistake?

“You said before you didn’t want to make mistakes,” Kun recites. “Do you think we were a mistake?”

“No,” Taeil replies at once. And then his look changes. Anger crosses his face, and he frowns. “Is that what you think?”

The question and meaning don’t register fast enough in Kun’s head. He parts his lips and focuses on Taeil’s eyes that twist with hurt.

“Is this how you see me now? A mistake?” he seethes. “I’d rather you remember me as a murderer.”

Kun starts back, dismayed. “No—Taeil—”

Taeil turns to the lockers and picks out his key. “I loved you,” he grits out, shoving all of Kun’s words back down his throat. “I still love you. After all this time, you think we were a mistake? That what I feel is wrong?”

“No—of course not,” Kun cries out. “I wouldn’t change us. I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

“Well I would!” Taeil exclaims, voice breaking. “I’d change a lot of things. I’d change everything so we could keep being together. So I can keep seeing you. I’d do anything to go back in time. I’d give anything to be able to see the future.”

“Nothing has to be perfect, Taeil,” Kun pleads. “There’s no use changing things or formulating them before they come. I need you here with me now!”

“I am with you!” he responds, almost breathless. “You’re the one who doesn’t love me.”

Taeil inserts his key into the bottom locker and drags the box out. Kun breathes in and lowers his head, feeling the rush of emotions readying to burst from his mouth, but then his eyes fall on the colourful necklace inside the box. He pauses for a second, then his entire body stills with dread. He stares at Taeil wide-eyed. But Taeil is frowning at the inside of the box. It’s a fearful moment before he raises his head and meets Kun’s frightened look. “This isn’t… mine…”

The sound of footsteps enters the room. Kun turns around to see a man step inside the office. It’s one of the math teachers. He stops when he sees Kun and Taeil in front of the locker box. Kun feels his throat constrict, breath caught in his lungs. Taeil is the first one who speaks: “Ah—sorry. I got mixed up again.”

Kun hears him shut the locker box, and the harsh noise snaps him out of his trance. The teacher waves his hand in dismissal and approaches them. Neither Taeil or Kun move. Slowly, the man steps in between them and goes to open his box. From his side, Kun throws Taeil the most alarmed look he can manage, eyes darting back to the teacher in panic. Taeil stares at him fixedly, unmoving.

Tension sinks in the room, ominous silence broken by the clinking of keys and rustling of papers. Kun’s eyes drift away. He takes a step back and turns around, but the next second he feels a hand grip his wrist, and he braces himself violently. Before he can turn around, Taeil slams the man on the locker row, resulting in a strident noise and a choked-out breath. The hand around Kun’s wrist releases when the teacher suddenly lunges for Taeil’s throat and drives him backward. Taeil’s back collides against his desk, rattling it brusquely, and Kun jolts when he hears something heavy thud on the floor.

“Kun!” Taeil gasps, scratching at the man’s hands around his neck.

In full-panic, Kun rushes over to the man’s back and tears him off with all his strength. Taeil shoves the teacher back until he trips, and they crash onto the floor. Kun staggers back, breath knocked out of him, and freezes when he sees Taeil scrambling on top of the teacher, the fingers still circling his throat. Kun’s eyes catch the trophy that’s fallen next to them, and Taeil notices it. All of it happens too fast. He knees the teacher in the stomach and his hands fly to grab the globe. The moment Kun sees him swing it above the man’s head, he whips around and clamps his hand over his mouth, cutting off the cry.

The first sound that ensues isn’t the most jarring, and only when Kun registers the successive strikes does he shut his eyes and clench his teeth until it hurts. It’s brutal, relentless, one _thump_ and _crack_ after the other and feels like it’ll never end. Kun’s nails dig into the skin of his cheeks and every nerve under his skin flares up. His mind is in chaos, senseless, and he can’t do anything but listen and wait, wait for the inevitable silence to fall in the room.

He hears Taeil’s quiet, tired breaths. Kun opens his eyes, tears blurring his vision. He draws his shaking hand away from his mouth and spit trails down his wrist. His heart is crashing in his chest. He’s hyperventilating. The air in the office room is dead cold, and the chill that enters his body makes him shudder so hard he lurches forward.

Taeil goes silent. Kun listens to him stumble, step by step, bit by bit. He stares ahead at the office door that’s swaying. Taeil comes behind him, and Kun’s stomach heaves when he smells blood.

“Kun,” Taeil rasps. “Please look at me.”

Kun swallows, holds his breath, and turns around. His heart leaps to his mouth. There’s blood everywhere. It’s blotted in the center of Taeil’s white blouse, on his chest and lanyard. There are spatters over his jaw, above his dull eyes. It’s both the most gruesome and calmest look Kun’s ever seen on him. He glimpses at the golden trophy on the floor, stained red, but doesn’t dare look at the body. The scene is straight out of a nightmare.

Kun’s breath releases like he’s being punched. His hands are trembling. “T—Taeil—”

“It’s OK,” he whispers, shaking his head. “It’s OK. It’s OK. It’s going to be OK.”

Taeil raises his hand, and Kun sees his fingers are smeared with blood. He chokes up and covers his mouth again. He’s going to vomit. There are too many things going inside his head and it’s going to burst open. The world is crashing down on him. This can’t be happening.

“I have to leave.”

Kun blenches, crying out into his palm. He can’t let himself breathe, he can’t let himself see this. Everything is happening too fast, there’s no time to catch a single thought. He’s going to faint.

“I’ll run away. I’ll start over,” Taeil breathes out. “I’ve done it before. I can do it again—”

“ _No!_ ” Kun shrieks. The force of his outburst startles them both. Kun’s eyes are quivering when he spews his words. “No—you can’t do it again! No! This isn’t music, Taeil! This is real life! You—you can’t always start over after a mistake! We—we killed a man—”

Taeil shushes him and steps closer. “Not you, love, not you. I killed him. Not you. Look—look at me, please. I need to go, OK? Breathe with me. Breathe.” But Kun can’t. It feels like he’s going to fall apart. Every inch of his body has gone numb. Taeil’s hands hover between them, and his eyes are full of sorrow. “Do you want to come with me?”

Kun’s heart stops. He gapes at Taeil and chokes out a gasp. The first thought that stills in his mind is Chenle, and it incapacitates the tumult in his head, turns it to terror. He can’t leave Chenle. He has to take care of the boy, he has to teach at the school, he has to see Doyoung and Jaehyun get married. He can’t leave his home, he can’t leave Newcult. He can’t throw away everything and run with Taeil.

“No,” Kun hisses. “No, I can’t.”

“I know,” Taeil immediately answers. “I know you can’t. But I have to go. I’ll run away, and you’ll keep teaching here. You’ll be with your friends and your nephew. You’ll be happy. You’ll have everything you want.”

 _Not you_ , goes unspoken in the space between them, _I won’t have you_. How can Kun think of that at this moment? Of all the unthinkable, unspeakable things that have happened, why does he always come back to Taeil? Kun’s heart is being wrenched out, and he can’t control himself as he cries. It’s like the world is ending.

“I’ll always love you,” Taeil says, “I love you until I die.”

Then he suddenly sinks to his knees. Kun’s eyes widen in panic when he sees Taeil twist the bloody band on his finger. “What are you doing—”

Taeil grabs his hand and pulls him forward. “Make vows with me, Kun—”

“What are you doing—” Kun cries out, and he can’t even wrest him off, feeling dizzy and furious, going crazy. “There’s _literally a body_ next to us, Taeil—”

“Make vows with me,” Taeil begs. He looks up at Kun with the most broken expression. “I love you. I love you so much. From the moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew I was done for. You are the song I want to listen to for the rest of my life. I’ll love you forever. I love you until I die.”

“No—no—” Kun gasps as Taeil slips the ring onto his finger. The blood drags up his skin, and the band rests tightly against his knuckle. Kun stares at it, and he can’t say it, he can’t admit it. He can’t love Taeil. “I—”

“Do you love me?”

“I want to die,” Kun sobs, losing his senses. He doesn’t know what he’s saying anymore, and Taeil’s silence is unbearable. Kun seizes his hand and lets out an agonizing breath. This is it. Their time has run out, he’s lost Taeil forever. Kun can’t start over, but he still has this moment now. He needs to confess before everything is gone.

“Taeil, I can love you,” he utters, heart throbbing. “But—but what if I don’t love you one day? What if... What if I can’t love you anymore in the future?” He swallows the bile down his throat. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Are you going to stop loving me in the future?” Taeil answers.

Kun wants to scream. It’s going to explode from him before he can contain it. “How am I supposed to know? I can’t—I can’t predict the future! I can’t know what I’ll feel! Things change, Taeil. I told you, you can’t look into the future. Everything’s in the present right now. And in the past.”

“But you love me now? You loved me before? Then you’ll love me, in the future,” Taeil implores. “You’ll always love me.”

“You’re not listening!” Kun screams, fisting his hair. “You’re not listening to me! Are you going to kill me if I’ll stop loving you?”

“No.” He’s crying. Taeil shuts his eyes and covers his mouth. “I—I don’t want you to stop loving me.”

“Then kill me now,” Kun laments. Taeil opens his eyes and stares at him, horrified. “Kill me and you’ll never have to know if I’ll stop loving you.” Kun takes hold of his hands, and his heart is in pieces as he tells him. “Don’t you see how fucked up it is? I don’t think you’re insane, Taeil. You’re just messed up on love. It’s not love-or-die. There’s variations. There’s endings. There’s a new song, after. You have to turn the page. So help me god—Taeil, you either kill me, or you leave Newcult, you leave this life—and I love you now knowing I’ll never see you again.”

Kun falls to his knees right as he says it, shaking uncontrollably. Taeil crouches down to hold him, and when they look at each other, everything disappears. And Kun cries even more when he realizes he’ll never live this feeling again. He’ll never see this look, never hear this voice, never feel this touch. He’ll never find a love like this again.

“No,” Taeil suddenly whispers, thumb coming to wipe his eyes. “We will see each other again. Someday. Somewhere. We’ll find each other, and we’ll still love each other.”

“How—how do you know, how are we going to know?” Kun asks, breathless.

“We just will,” Taeil says. “We’ll just know, when it happens.”

He cups his face and presses his head against his. Kun clutches his wrists and waits to catch his breath, waits until his heartbeat regulates. They hold each other for long, painful minutes, and though it's agonizing, Kun never wants to let him go.

Taeil caresses his cheek. “Take my key and wait in the car. I’ll take care of this.”

Kun gives him an aggrieved look. Taeil shakes his head and insists: “Just leave and stay in the car. I promise I’ll take care of this. Just go and wait, please.”

They don’t break gaze. Hands shaking, Kun takes the lanyard and removes it from Taeil’s neck. It takes a lot of tries before he manages to stand up. It doesn’t feel like he’s in his body, but he's unable to stay another second in the room.

Without another word, Kun runs out of the office. There’s no one in the school anymore. When he steps outside, the rainfall increases. He finds Taeil’s car, but before he unlocks the passenger door, he catches his reflection in the side-mirror. There are traces of blood on his face where Taeil’s touched him. Kun throws himself on the ground, gathers the rainwater in his hands and rubs it harshly on his cheeks and under his ear. The icy feeling stays on his skin.

He locks himself in the car and the rainfall dulls out. His eyes find the rear-view mirror, and he stares at himself. The silence is suddenly too much, and he can’t bear being alone. Kun feels empty, like all the blood’s been drained from his body. He can’t stay awake. He falls unconscious for some time before he's woken up by the knocking on the window. He jerks up and moves back when a hand presses against the glass. Then he sees the single silver band on the ring finger. Kun unlocks the car and Taeil climbs inside. His face is clean and he’s changed his clothes. Kun gives him back the lanyard. Taeil eyes it for a minute, before he takes it and starts the car.

They don’t speak for a while. The only sounds are the muffled patter of rain and the car’s whirring. Kun stares at Taeil, driving them forward with that blank look of his, and he burns this image in his head.

“Where’s the body,” Kun says.

Taeil’s eyes stay fixed on the flowing road. “Around.”

Kun shuts his eyes and buries his head in his hands. Taeil tells him he’s left the school board a note, that his mother has died, he’s gone to see his family in the city, he doesn’t know when he’ll be back, and then in a few weeks' time he’ll decide that he wants to stay with them and he’ll be offered a new teaching post there. The towns here are so small, nobody will care. Kun doesn’t really listen to him. He keeps his eyes closed for the rest of the drive, until Taeil pulls onto the terrain of his house. He says he’s going to pack his things and asks Kun to wait.

It’s pouring. Alone inside the car, Kun feels buried. He doesn’t understand how they ever ended here. If seems like yesterday they were still eating dinner and having ice cream, kissing each other under the sun and gazing out the mountain range of the town. Those days are gone, and now Kun only has minutes before Taeil disappears with them.

The lights in the house go out. Taeil comes back with a suitcase he throws in the backseat. He gets in the car and turns on his phone. Kun’s heart breaks impossibly more when he sees the lockscreen is him against the starry lit background of Newcult. He glances at the time—it’s almost ten.

Taeil drives them down the road in silence. Kun’s caught off-guard when the car slows down all of a sudden, and he recognizes the turnout right before the curve of the road. Taeil stops and steps out. Alarmed, Kun follows him to the small gravel space. They stand in front of the hazy view of the mountain range between the trees. Rain obscures the shapes of the forest in the dark.

Kun turns to meet his eyes. The rainwater falls down his beautiful face. Taeil takes his arm, then his hand slips down to hold Kun’s.

“I really liked this town,” he says. “No matter what time it is, no matter where I am, I’ll always think of you.”

Kun entwines their fingers and Taeil leans forward, but stops himself a breath away from his lips. He glances at Kun for a second, afraid. Kun is so torn for a moment that he can’t move, but then he grabs Taeil’s face and crashes their mouths together. It’s absolutely furious, hungry and desperate. Taeil pushes him against the car and Kun’s hands card through his wet hair. The taste of Taeil mixes with rainwater and tears, and Kun’s heart sets on fire. Their heads stay pressed against each other when they part, seeking the lingering touch, the burn, the lasting effect.

Taeil turns back and gets in the car. Kun follows him, going around to the passenger’s side. He seats himself inside and closes the door, and Taeil starts the engine. They stare at each other in silence, and the moment stills.

“I love you,” Kun says, and Taeil breaks. Kun's eyes fall to his lips, neck, and chest, where the lanyard rests. He inches closer, and whispers into Taeil’s mouth: “Once again, please.”

He exhales when their lips connect, and this time it’s slow, heavy, painful. Taeil’s hands come to cradle his face and Kun’s find his wrists. For long minutes they kiss, crying into each other’s mouths, Taeil drawing out his words— _I love you, I need you, I can’t live without you_ —and Kun does all he can to remember the feeling of Taeil around him, the hands on his skin, the look in his eyes, the smooth voice that flows into the night.

Taeil pulls back, eyes red and tears on his face. He moves back to his seat and takes Kun’s hand, holding it in the middle. Kun looks at the silver band on his own finger, then at Taeil. He’s indescribably beautiful, even when he cries, even when it hurts.

They drive out. Kun startles when he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He takes it out, and his heart drops to his gut when he sees Chenle’s grinning face on the lit screen. He presses on the button and the boy’s crying voice immediately floods the line.

“Kun—” he hiccups and coughs, “—wh—where are you? It’s so late—where are you?”

“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry, Chenle—I’m on my way back now,” Kun shushes him, but Chenle only cries louder. “No—it’s OK—it’s OK, baby, what’s wrong? Did you have a nightmare? I’m here, OK?”

“Please come back home,” Chenle wails. “Come back…”

“I’m on my way, baby, it’s OK—please, don’t cry. Baby, don’t cry.” He glances at Taeil, whose hands tighten on the wheel. Chenle sobbing in his ear, Kun blinks out his tears and looks at the curved road ahead. “It’s OK, Chenle, everything’s going to be OK. Why don’t you take out a book, baby, OK? Turn on the TV and wait for me—”

“No! No—I don’t want to see the scary show!” he begs. “Kun—please, please come home…”

Kun breathes in heavily, and his hand gripping the phone loosens when he focuses on the curve approaching, and the silence around him. Chenle’s cries and the rain are deadened noise. He stares ahead at the black sky and glowing lights of Newcult beneath the ledge. Kun braces himself, like something’s caught up to him at last, like he’s finally reached the end of a book. Memories clear in his head. Pitch, drop, fall. The fading traces in the night sky crash down onto him.

“Chenle, I love you,” he cries. “I love you.”

Taeil’s eyes move away. The car slows down at the curve and turns. Kun’s eyes follow the town passing below them, the rainwater washing down the cliff. Chenle cries softly in his ear, sound fading with the smooth voice at his side.   

 “ _Even if it hurts, it’s OK_ ,” Taeil sings, “ _because you love me_.”

 

—

 

 _3 YEARS AFTER_  


Music flows freely inside the wide lit room. Many guests gather in the area, chatting quietly under the fierce harmonies. They watch the young musicians on the platform playing their instruments, and the man standing at the front, moving the sounds along.

Four boys and a student, accompanied by a blond man, enter the room from the center door. They speak unhurriedly. The boys race into the scattered crowd, and the man follows them. The music surrounds him, and he moves forward, carried away by the sounds. He exits onto the space in front of the platform, just as the music rises. He stares up at the man standing at the edge, with blood red hair, wearing a white blouse and a black lanyard.

The music falls. The man on the platform slows down, then looks over his shoulder. Their eyes meet for a moment. He turns back, raises his baton, and signals to repeat the movement, once again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year!


End file.
